


Election Season

by Snowbaz-Mama (chrissy_lee)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Election Season, Enemies to Allies To Lovers, Excessive coffee contraptions, M/M, Mage is terrible in any universe, Political Rival David Mage, Politician Baz, The Fight for City Hall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:26:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 53,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26828833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrissy_lee/pseuds/Snowbaz-Mama
Summary: Mayor Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch is the youngest mayor ever elected in Watford (and the first openly gay mayor in the county to boot). Elected immediately after graduating top of his class at university, Baz feels the immense pressure to succeed in his position - one his mother ran for but never had the chance to fill.If only his opponent during his reelection, city administrator David Mage, would stop insisting that what Baz knows is good for Watford is merely a plot to make him and his family more money. And with Mage's infuriatingly handsome but blustering protege, Simon Snow, lurking around City Hall trying to prove that Baz is plotting, this election season is giving Baz a headache bigger than the one his aunt and campaign manager Fiona gives him at 7 AM every morning.But when Simon overhears something he probably shouldn't have, he reaches out to Baz to form a truce and find out the truth, to keep the election fair and free, and give Baz the courage he needs to carry on through election season.
Relationships: Dev/Niall (Simon Snow), Penelope Bunce/Shepard, Simon Snow/Agatha Wellbelove, The Mage & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 65
Kudos: 108





	1. Pumpkin Spice Fashion Week Season

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Long time reader and commenter, first time writer! I am SUPER NERVOUS to post my first fic, but so excited, too!
> 
> If you haven't noticed, this election season over here in the US is a bit of a shit show, and I just wanted there to be some alternative reality where righteousness and truth win (one can only read Red, White & Royal Blue so many times!), and so I dreamed up this fic in a moment of being despondent over the state of our nation. What better way to make an election season more palatable than by making it Snowbaz?!
> 
> Also, I am looking for a beta reader and have NO CLUE how to find one, so I'm just putting this first chapter out into the universe in hopes for some feedback and some beta nibbles. If you're interested, please let me know in the comments or come find me on my (very, extremely unused because I'm really kind of just too damn old to figure it all out, y'all) Tumblr: Snowbaz-Mama
> 
> And finally, I know there is A LOT of incredible Snowbaz content coming out daily this month (believe me, I am enjoying every bit of it!), so to everyone who takes the time to read and comment on this thing, thank you in advance. I hope you enjoy!

BAZ

“We have a problem, boyo,” snarls Fiona as she unceremoniously slams 3 binders in front of me onto the desk as I am sat forward, casually sipping my morning coffee while hunched over my laptop checking emails for the day. I peer over the edge of my coffee mug at her, giving her a look which I hope is withering enough to curdle milk. 

“Good day to you too,” I drawl. “To what do I owe this visit, dear aunt? Or are we in campaign manager mode, I assume, from the racket? And these...” I gesture to the plastic bricks now spilling over each other all over my desk, “these are things I need to pay attention to right now? At 7 AM? Before I’ve even finished my first cup of coffee or checking my emails?”

“Obviously it’s the latest poll numbers, Basil. Do you have any idea what the shifting demographics of your party over the last few months are doing to us? To _you_?” she spits out. Fiona Pitch, as much of a genius as she is with numbers and trends, isn’t much for beating around the bush. Her edges, as sharp as her blunt, black bob of hair, as stark as the white stripe that swoops over her high cheekbones, make her possibly the most terrifying human being in this city - but one hell of a campaign manager. “If you don’t start taking this seriously now, we run a true risk of succumbing to that fucking blowhard. And if you think I’m going to put a loss to a man with a damn pencil mustache into my column, I swear I will drag you out of City Hall myself when you lose and toss you into the West River with a block of cement tied to your Ferragamos,” she says with finality.

I sigh hard and loud, enough for Fiona to know that I am both bored of this topic and resigned to discussing it. This conversation happens at least once a week, with Fiona blustering through my office doors with more doom and gloom about my reelection campaign. As if somehow the good people of the City of Watford had all turned against me en masse overnight.

But I’m not so shortsighted that I would take this position for granted. Youngest mayor ever elected by the City of Watford, and elected straight out of university (where I graduated top of my class as a political science and English and Comparative Literature double major - naturally). First openly gay mayor to ever lead a city in this county. So many firsts. So much pressure.

I always feel this pressure the most when facing my aunt, my mother’s sister. I shouldn’t be sitting in this chair, at this desk right now. It was always a borrowed throne, this seat, and the crown is heavy. It should have been hers, the dark polished walnut of its arms worn smooth by her rough, warm hands and not my cold ones. I put my coffee cup down, lean back in my chair and rub my hands on them now. How would my mother be facing the pressure of her reelection, had she made it to this seat, I wonder? Had she even made it through her campaign? 

“David Mage and his so-called ‘progressive wing’ of the party is getting a lot of attention right now, Basil. The millennials love him! They think they’re never going to have to pay a loan off again if he’s elected!” she shouts. 

“Fiona, _I’m_ a millennial. Or am I a Gen Zer?” I pause, tapping my chin as I ponder that for a minute.

“It doesn’t fucking matter, Basil. Millennial, zellenial, whatever - he’s now touting himself as ‘the people’s candidate.’ He’s trying to set you up to look like a posh twat who only got into this office through nepotism, tax breaks for the wealthy, and pity.”

“Well, he’s not all wrong. Have you seen this new Dolce & Gabbana shirt I’m wearing today? It’s Fashion Week season and I do have a reputation to maintain, you know,” I say, as I tug at the cuffs of the green floral button down with red and white roses then shake out my mane of raven hair. People did not elect me the first openly gay mayor for nothing.

“Can we take this seriously, please?” she says as she towers over me, leaning forward on both hands against my desk. “What am I going to have to show you to get you to understand that if you don’t change course with some of your major policies, that modern day Robin Hood is going to come galloping into this office with some fucking bow and arrow, probably, hog tie you, and claim victory as he shoots an apple off your head. He’s already pushing the city council to amend the city charter to curtail your authority over the budget,” she says. Her face softens for a moment, and she lets out a soft sigh, and speaks more quietly now. “He’s dangerous, Basil - and he has the power to change this city with or without you being mayor.” 

I look Fiona square in the eyes now, and something like fear momentarily washes over me. As mayor of Watford, I only have so much power. The real power, I soon found out after I was elected, truly rests in the city council, elected seats I have absolutely no control over. And if it’s one thing Pitches pride themselves on, it’s control and mastery over any situation. I’m not blind; I’ve been watching David Mage very carefully since I was elected. It was he, after all, that went after my mother mercilessly during her campaign, smearing her reputation up and down the county. It was he, as head of the poli sci department, who chose a blithering idiot over me for a prestigious internship at City Hall my last year of university. And it was he who I had to grit my teeth at when he held the book I swore my oath on as Mayor of Watford. It seems I can’t escape him, and now he’s come after my seat, running against me for mayor and I swear all I can see when I close my eyes at night is him and his green tweed jacket with the elbow patches from 1985 that he wore to our lectures every day. Him and...well...nevermind that. 

But I’m a Pitch. I do not get frazzled, or intimidated, or back down, and so I tell Fiona, “I hear everything you’re saying, Fiona. Truly, I do - but I have a job to do. For Watford. That has to be my focus right now. I’m right in the middle of the dam conversion project and I cannot let myself get distracted by fucking Mage. My accomplishments will speak to the people. They’ll know I’m doing it for them - for us. For all of us.” I’m nearly misty-eyed as I make this impassioned plea to my aunt, my last blood connection to my mother. She sees it in my face as she steps away from my desk. 

“You’ve done well here, boyo. You’re doing well. More than that -- you’re doing _good_. We just need to find a way to convince everyone in Watford that it’s true.” 

“That’s why I pay you the big bucks, Fiona. Just tell me what I need to say and do and I’ll look my best doing it. Now, out with you. I’ve got a meeting at 9 to prepare for with Salisbury Electric. Tell Dev to get his arse in here with those electricity bill projections on your way out, will you?”

“Will do. And, Basil? Maybe trying to get the same bloke to come to city functions with you would help with the image? You know, instead of the rotating door of bronze Achilles prototypes you usually sashay in with one after the other?” 

I roll my eyes. “Sure thing, Fiona. I know how much better people like the gays when we appear to be monogamous just like them.” 

“You’re made of trouble, Mayor Grimm-Pitch,” she utters as she hollers for Dev through the door. I roll my eyes and finish off my coffee so I can cross at least one thing off of my list for the day.

**SIMON**

I wish I still had my old trainers. I mean, I know that working in government I’m supposed to look the part and all, but when you’re dashing up the stairs of the train station because you’re running late to the city council’s weekly briefing, and you’re the one who’s supposed to be taking notes for the city administrator, who also happens to be your boss, and your mentor, _and_ who you basically owe your whole current livelihood to, yeah, a pair of trainers would really be nice right about now.

I’ve upgraded, though - traded my old shoes in for some nice leather Oxfords (although why anyone spends more than 20 quid on shoes is beyond me. “It projects an image, Simon, that you care about your job and this city,” Penny, my best friend and roommate, told me as she dragged me out shopping before my internship started during my last year at university. I didn’t mention that maybe her school-girl knee socks and kilts could use an upgrade, too, because honestly what do I know about fashion anyway? She’s since swapped the knee socks out for tall boots and I think they suit her just fine). And right now these shoes are only adequately getting me up and out of the train station, down the sidewalk, through the bollards in front of Watford City Hall and up the marble steps, through security as I scan my ID, and to the lift where I just make it through the sliver of the sliding door. 

I lean into the back wall of the lift and heave a sigh of relief, punching the elevator buttons until floor 12 lights up. I take a breath and sneak a quick sip of my tea as I catch my breath, straighten out my blue button down, and adjust the strap or my leather satchel across my chest (also all picked out by Penny). When the lift doors part, I step out into the hall and follow it down to the council chambers. I already hear Davy’s voice drifting out of the heavy oak doors.

“...will bankrupt this city if we carry on with this project,” he says. “The tax breaks to these companies are not doing our budget any favors.” A fellow council member cries, “Hear, hear!” 

“But won’t it save the citizens millions in the long term? Mayor Grimm-Pitch’s central platform was restoring the mill district on the West River, and he’s making good on his promise by planning to use the abandoned mills to store the hydroelectric dam motors and power converters - not to mention all the tech start-ups being housed down in some of the renovated mills. Don’t you understand how many jobs this will create in the city, Davy?” says Councilman Wellbelove. A few of the other council members silently nod in agreement. 

“And at the taxpayer’s expense while we’re at it. You’re only supporting this because Agatha works for New Tomorrows, Milton,” huffs Davy. I startle a bit at the mention of Agatha’s name. Even though it’s been well over a year since we’ve broken up, and there are honestly no hard feelings, hearing her name jolts me for a moment. I step around from behind the doors right as Davy is about to launch another tirade at Milton Wellbelove, Agatha's father.

“Simon, my boy - there you are. We’ve started without you. Have a seat and get set up, won’t you?” Davy sniffs, his mustache quivering for just a moment. It’s one of those microgestures you’d only notice if you’ve spent as much time with a person as I’ve spent with Davy. Barely a blip across his normally jovial face, but enough of a betrayal to know when he’s starting to get agitated.

“Sorry, sir - train delay again. Another power outage, I suppose,” I apologize. Milton stares daggers at Davy, as if to say, _see_? 

And he does, in fact, turn to Davy with an imperious look. “Davy, I think we need to meet with the department of energy to get their final projections before we bring this to a vote. I know His Honor has a meeting with Salisbury Electric this morning to go over the final numbers for the dam project.” 

Davy huffs again as he stands from his polished chair and clasps his hands behind his back. “If this is the wish of the council, very well. Let us reconvene at the usual time for our official council meeting next week once we get the final numbers from the mayor. Simon, come along.” He spins on his heels and quickly walks through the heavy doors. 

I quickly pack up my laptop and throw it back into my satchel, shoot Milton an apologetic look, and dash out after Davy as he disappears through the doors. He’s speed walking down the hall to our offices, talking and gesturing as we walk. 

“I’m going to need you to go to the 25th floor today, Simon. After the Salisbury meeting gets out. Ask His Honor’s personal whatever-he-calls-him for the budget spreadsheets for the dam project. I can’t truly believe this investment is going to benefit me. I mean, benefit Watford.”

“But sir,” I huff, trying to keep up but trailing just behind his stride, “New Tomorrows has secured grants from the central government to offset at least half of the installation costs. Can’t you just see it? Watford’s electricity being generated almost entirely from green, renewable resources? Watford a, uh, what’s it called -- a paradigm. For other cities like ours whose industry left long ago. And you love the outdoors, sir, and nature - surely we can use this to our advantage in the campaign. Maybe we can figure out how to make it cost the city less?” I plea. 

“Pitch -- I mean, Mayor Grimm-Pitch -- will stop at nothing to pander to his investors in this project, even if it means destroying the natural habitat of the river, Simon, and for what? Cheaper electricity? No, he’s not here for us, for our planet. He’s here to make money. You don’t think Malcolm Grimm has investments in Salisbury Electric?”

“I--I hadn’t really, um, considered it, honestly. It’s just--” 

I stop abruptly behind Davy as he swipes his ID to get into his office. Just what? It’s true that Baz -- Mayor Grimm-Pitch -- is rich, that his family has investments up and down the riverfront. But it always seemed that he was looking out for the citizens, his electorate. He made promises of green power, more reliable electricity, a cleaner planet, a rejuvenated mill district to bring life back to the city, and he’s delivering. “Pitches always follow through on their promises, Snow,” I can nearly hear him snarling hotly in my ear. I shiver for a moment at the thought of the mayor’s voice that low and close to me. 

“Sir, I think we need to take a different angle for the campaign,” I shake my head and continue. “The dam conversion project is popular. We need to promise something _else_ to Watford that Ba--the mayor--hasn’t been able to deliver yet, ya know?” I finally spit out as I rub anxiously at the back of my undercut. 

“There’s no way this project is legal. There must be some waterfront protections in place he’s knowingly violating,” Davy muses as he scratches at his goatee. “Tell you what, Simon. When you go upstairs later to get the budget spreadsheets, why don’t you try getting...comfortable...with the mayor?”

“Comfortable? Sir, you know that Baz and I do not exactly have a, uh, a history of--comfort--around each other.”

“Precisely. Catch him off guard. Make small talk. Maybe offer to get a coffee or a bite to eat at the end of the day? I need to know what he’s up to, Simon.”

“Are you asking me to spy then? To find out what he’s plotting?” I ask, lowering my voice. 

“No, no--nothing so untoward. Just...see if you can loosen him up a bit, hmm? You’re a charming young lad. I heard he likes those.” Davy winks, then clasps his hands around my shoulders before stepping all the way into his office and closing the door behind him. 

I heave a sigh to the heavens, then continue walking down the hall to my own office, wondering what on earth I’m supposed to say to Mayor Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch to convince him to eat with me, let alone let me set foot in his office to speak with me. But if there’s one thing I know I can get Baz to do, it’s entice him into a fight with me. 

Even though it’s been ages since we’ve truly goaded each other to the extremes, it’s still a talent I know I have at the waiting when I need it. And I guess if there’s any time to pull out all the punches, election season is going to be it. 

I reach my office, check my watch, then sit down and check the shared budget calendar. Baz is meeting with Salisbury Electric at 9:00 this morning. The meeting should be letting out sometime after lunch, so perhaps if I casually walk up and ask Niall, his administrative assistant, for the dam budget for Davy, it will send him on a wild goose chase (that information would usually be with Dev, the budget undersecretary), I could casually slide into Baz’s office around coffee break time and just…

Just talk to him? Ask him how it’s been hanging? Baz and I don’t do that. We don’t...talk. Check on each other. Care about each other, really, although there was a brief time at university where it seemed it could have been that way, if Baz could lower his walls for just a damn second and breath. Baz was always so driven - still is. He was the same during a heated debate in a seminar as he is everywhere else, including the mayor’s office. Strong. Graceful. Fucking ruthless. One does not casually saunter into someone’s office who could tear you apart with a singular hushed “hmmmm” and a cursed raise of his bloody eyebrow. Unless you bribed him with something sweet.

Yes. That’s it. That pumpkin drink he loved from the university library cafe. Pumpkin...something? Ah, well - it’s pumpkin spice season everywhere now, innit, and I’m pretty sure it’s all just the same sugary rot pumped out of a bottle at every coffee chain in the city anyway, so I’m sure it won’t make a difference.

I set a timer on my phone for 3 PM, start checking emails, make some calls to Premal, Davy’s campaign manager (and Penny’s brother - so weird), and try to remember what on earth that pumpkin coffee concoction could have been called.


	2. Bad Blood Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrong coffee orders, Baz likes what he sees, and Simon is pretty terrible at espionage. The boys find themselves in familiar territory once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness - I can't believe I kept writing this! Did you know that writing and editing is actually really hard work? Who knew?!
> 
> Thank you to my amazing beta reader TheyIs, who has indulged me in many conversations about politics and privilege, asked me questions I didn't know I had to answer, and generally been the best person to play idea tennis with. 
> 
> I'm trying, but here's my historically underused [Tumblr](https://snowbaz-mama.tumblr.com/) \- come say hi!

**Chapter 2: Bad Blood Season**

BAZ

Well, that was positively exhausting. Productive, but exhausting. 

While Dev is a genius at number crunching, his penchant for flirting with high-level executives is embarrassing for the both of us. But Salisbury and Dev delivered the numbers I wanted to see - ones I know the city council could not possibly argue with. Millions saved over 5 years. More in the long run. Return on investment enough to satisfy the backers of the project. The abandoned mills rejuvenated, reinvented. Watford put on the map as a certified Green City. My dreams for Watford are finally coming to fruition. I like to think they are the dreams my mother had for the city, too. 

The meeting ran late, though, and I realize that I haven’t had my afternoon coffee or a snack and I’m flagging fast. Just as I’m rustling around in the drawer to find a Nespresso pod (Keurigs are gross - I’ll fight anyone who argues otherwise), I hear a rustling near the doorway.

“Niall, did Dev bring you down the copies of the budget projections so you can make the binders for the council meeting next week?”

No answer. Instead, I look up and see a familiar sight peeking around the doorframe.

Blue eyes.

Bronze curls.

One of the sunniest men alive I know, shuffling awkwardly now in the doorway deciding whether or not to cross the threshold to me. 

Simon Snow is standing there, holding a coffee and a sack of some kind of pastry in one hand and nervously grasping at the cross-body strap of his satchel with another, wearing a crooked, bashful grin.

Well - this is not who I expected to see today in my office at this hour. And looking like -- that.

In the years since we’ve graduated, Snow has done a lot of work on himself to meet the expectations of a high-level government assistant (even if it is an assistant to a madman - a powerful madman at that). He’s calmer now - much less likely to go off on an angry, frustrated tirade when you disagree with him. He’s cleaned up, traded in trainers for sleek, rich brown Oxfords. Swapped track pants for some (very nicely fitted) khakis, ratty t-shirts for a basic button-down. I can’t say I don’t like what I’m looking at. Not that I ever minded him in the other threads either. 

My eyes roam up and down once, twice, before settling on his face, which is looking a little sweaty at the moment. I school my expression into something that feels familiar for us. 

“Snow, to what do I owe the pleasure? I assumed we’d be seeing each other at the vote at next week’s council meeting, and according to the calendar you're a week early for that, so…” I trail off, trying to maintain a suitable scowl. 

Simon shifts his feet again and moves a hand to the back of his head - his tell-tale nervous gesture. 

“Well, see, Davy, I mean Mage, uh - he knew you had the meeting with Salisbury Electric this morning? And he wanted me to pick up the budget portfolio for the council to study ahead of next week’s vote. And so, yeah. But it looks like Niall’s not here, so…”

“You know it has to go through Dev first, Snow. Niall will make the copies and send the binders down tomorrow morning to Mage’s office to distribute to council. Is that all?” I try to sound as clipped as possible. Nothing good can come of Snow lingering here. 

“Yeah but, see, I kind of wanted to ask you some questions about the project? For the meeting, the vote. So I brought you a coffee - figured you had a long afternoon in meetings, probably. And I know you never make time for yourself to eat when you get busy.”

He noticed. He remembers.

“Coffee?” I sniff tentatively. “Let’s have it, then.” 

He advances closer to me now, the arm with the coffee outstretched. He places the cup triumphantly on my desk. “Pumpkin spice latte! Just like you used to drink back at the university library cafe, right? Oh, and a scone.” He plops the bag he was holding down next to the coffee. “Can’t have a coffee without a scone.”

“It wasn’t pumpkin  _ spice _ , Snow - don’t be common. It was a pumpkin mocha  _ breve _ .”

“What’s the difference?” Snow shrugs. 

“I don’t have time to explain the minutiae of proper coffee brewing to you, Snow. And the only place around here that makes one nearly as decent is The Black Goat down the block. You can’t expect a chain to get it right.” I see his face fall. God, I hate when he’s disappointed in me, in my shitty attitude, which is always. Not that I would ever show him that. A river of bad blood so gaping flows between us from our past, no dam can stop it up now, I think. 

Fuck. He’s just going to trot off to Mage as soon as we’re done talking anyway. This is a terrible idea - I’m in the middle of a reelection campaign. Against his boss. But I’m weak, and so I decide to throw him a bone. What’s the worst that can happen besides I get to spend a half hour in the company of this frustrating man? The river can’t be stopped, but perhaps it can recede just a bit. 

He’s still watching me expectantly, so I take a sip of the pumpkin atrocity for his sake. “Thank you, Snow - it’s adequate. So, Chosen One,” I ask, noticing him flinch at the old nick-name, “tell me what you want to know about the dam project that you can go parrot back to your master.” 

SIMON

I can’t believe that worked. Like, Baz let me into his office. And he barely even insulted me (besides my bad taste in coffee chains, apparently) or Davy (except basically calling me his dog). Maybe he’s losing his edge. Growing older and wiser and all that. Cleansing himself of our bad blood, perhaps. 

I don’t suppose it would do as mayor to have some silly rivalry with your university nemesis standing in the way of a reelection campaign. Christ, how we used to fight, though. And how he came alive in those moments. He set everyone around him on fire. 

Baz and I met our first year at uni - just happened to be in the first Intro to Political Science course all first years have to take to fulfill their social sciences course requirement. I didn’t even know what political science was. I honestly just wanted to take psychology so I could start my education courses, but the Psych 101 course didn’t work with my schedule. 

I was lost from the beginning. I couldn’t keep up with all the reading or all the discussions in seminar. He knew he belonged there, though. And god, did he ever lord it over me, over everyone. His face lit up during every lecture, taking meticulous notes in his perfect, cramped handwriting (who even takes handwritten notes these days?); he steamrolled over everyone in every discussion, relentlessly wearing his opponent down until they conceded to his point. 

If Davy hadn’t seen something in me in that first year course, I likely wouldn’t have continued my course of study, would have left Baz behind in our first year, a smoldering stormcloud of hostility. Improbably, Davy thought I would make a good civil servant some day (he was only a city councilor then - not yet elected as city administrator). He said it was my “unrelenting optimism, my boy - you’d know how to make life better for the people because you know what it’s like to have nothing. Working in government can give you the power to make change.” 

I’d never had anyone believe I would be a great anything, except for my foster mom. If it weren’t for Ebb helping me write out scholarship applications in my final year of secondary school, when I came to live with her, I wouldn’t have even gotten here in the first place. I wasn’t a Pitch with a pedigree going back two centuries. I was just Simon, the abandoned boy who somehow ended up around the right people at the right time.

Except for Baz. Baz was merciless during class, spitting insults at me throughout every first year course we shared. 

“Did you even do the reading, Snow?  _ Can _ you read?”

“Spit it out, Snow.  _ Use your words _ .”

That last one was the fucking worst. It just made my voice seize up more, made the words turn into a hard ball in my throat I couldn’t dislodge and my answers incinerate into a pile of ash on my tongue. I  _ hated _ the way he made me feel about myself that year.

But improbably, after being paired up so often, course after course, his heat turned down a little as I grew more comfortable in class, felt more like I belonged there, too. I began to grow a backbone and, with Davy’s guidance, a philosophy I could defend, started giving as good as I got during seminar. Not that Baz and I often agreed. But we became more tolerant of each other and our opinions. I admired his razor-sharp intelligence (and his wit - the man is honestly hilarious in a “only smart people get my quips” sort of way). He quietly respected me. He was almost nice. And we were almost close. Almost so close. 

But then I was chosen - somehow. I hated being chosen over him for the Watford City Hall Initiative internship with Davy our last year. It should have gone to him. He was the obvious candidate as the top of our class. But I think too much bad blood flowed between the Pitches and Mage, something about Davy and Baz’s mother Natasha never getting on. Old guard vs. new guard. Same old story, really. 

Hey - if I hadn’t been chosen, I don’t think Baz would have been so bold as to start his mayoral campaign before he’d even graduated. It lit quite the fire under his ass. But it closed a heavy door between us. 

He’s opening back up to me now, though, just a bit. Cooling back down. He’s answering my questions. Like, not even sarcastically. He’s wearing a floral button-down that would look absolutely ridiculous on anyone else. But of course he wears it like a piece of designer clothing deserves to be worn - like the individual wearing it is in charge and knows it. Makes everyone else know it, too. 

“And so hopefully, with any luck,” he finishes, “and with the funding Agatha secured, the conversion can be finished within the next six months. Then the city will be able to hook the power generated from the river onto the grid.”

“Wow,” I breathed out, sort of only half listening. But I caught the important bits. “Baz, you -- that’s just amazing. You did it! I mean…”

Baz snorts. “You approve, Snow? Does your master know?”

“I’m not kept by him, you know,” I say, leaning back into the chair on the opposite side of his desk. “You know I like all your green ideas, Baz. It’s just...the social welfare bit I think Davy’s got you on, you know? That’s catching people’s attention.”

“This project benefits everyone - not just the rich,” he declares defensively. 

“Yeah, but the social service safety net in this city is still abysmal. I’m sorry, but the care homes, the public schools? They can’t do too much with cheap electricity,” I counter. “And what about putting in some affordable housing down in the mills instead of housing more tech start-ups? Where are the people in the row houses down on the river going to go once your posh warehouse boutiques and tattoo parlors start popping up in the mills?”

“It’s not like we’re putting in a fucking Amazon warehouse down there, Snow. And Bunce works for one of those tech startups, if I’m not mistaken,” he counters back. This is familiar territory now. 

“Don’t bring Penny into this! I’m not talking about Penny here - I’m talking about -- everyone else!” I spit out.

He glares daggers at me for a moment, then rolls his eyes and turns away. “Typical. I do something that’s good for literally everybody and you still manage to find fault in me.” 

“It’s not you!” I’m pulling and pulling at my hair now. “Look, I didn’t come here for a fight, Baz.”

“Why did you come then, Snow?” It’s more of a command than a question, his grey eyes boring into me. I warm under their glare and quickly look down into my lap. 

Why  _ did  _ I come? Because I was told? Because I wanted to know what he was up to? Because I always want to know what he’s up to, even though he’s the fucking mayor now?

“To ask questions. To bring you coffee. To get the budget. It’s simple, really,” I shrug. 

“Well, I think you can cross this off your to-do list today then, Snow. Mission accomplished, yes to you.” He pauses, and I can tell he’s considering his next words carefully. “I’m sure Wellbelove is waiting for you.”

I shrug again. “Yeah, right.” I look down, embarrassed. “Aggie and I broke up a while ago, Baz.” His draw drops momentarily, an aperture of surprise.

“Oh. I see. I-I’m surprised I hadn’t heard, working with New Beginnings and all on the project. I thought -- I’m sorry to have misspoke.” 

“No matter, anyway,” I mumble. “No hard feelings, and we’re still good friends.”

“Well, I can tell you that she has been absolutely indispensable for the last few months planning this project with us. She does good work.” 

I don’t even know how to move on from this conversation; the awkwardness is threatening to flatten me to the floor, so I just sputter out, “Yeah, so--thanks again. For the answers. To the questions. Great work. And I’ll uh, see you at the vote next week?” I stand up quickly to leave. 

“Yes, Snow. And -- thank you.” He stands to meet me - standing above me (he’s always above me - by at least three inches). “For the terrible coffee. I’ll have Niall send the budget binders downstairs tomorrow for the council.”

He’s looking at me like he’s almost sorry to see me go. I wonder how often he gets to talk to people his own age. Gets to let down his guard around someone who knows him well. Seems like it would get lonely up here in this office (even if he does have Dev and Niall around), holed up in his tower. 

At least he’s got a heck of a view. I turn and look out the floor to ceiling window, beyond the full-length curtain to the sun blazing down over the horizon of the West River.

“Nice view of the sunset you’ve got,” I gesture as I turn to go.

He walks from around his desk to follow me out the door. He stops in front of me for a moment, glances out the window, and back down to me - the oranges and cherry reds of the sunset reflecting off his shiny black hair. “Yes, I do.” He considers me a moment longer, grey eyes burning through me . I feel a small hitch in my throat, then clear it to shake it away.

“Well, erm - goodnight then, Baz. I’ll uh - see you next week.” 

I walk through the door quickly, not waiting for a reply.

It’s far later than I thought it was when I finally make my way back downstairs. 


	3. Stalker Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon hears something he shouldn't have; Baz knows martial arts, has a briefcase, and knows how to use it; Simon is a terrible stalker; Baz's flat is exactly what you'd think; and Simon has something very important to tell Baz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm so excited to present Chapter 3 to you all! I am having so much fun writing this piece and appreciate all the kudos and comments that you leave - they are so encouraging.
> 
> Thanks again to dear beta TheyIs, who probably got way more than they bargained for in accepting me as their first writer to beta (which they are brilliant at).
> 
> [The Tumblr](https://snowbaz-mama.tumblr.com/), blah blah. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

SIMON

I make it about five steps outside into the now-darkened evening, the sun having finally sunk down behind the horizon, before I realize that I left my budget binder in my office (why Davy insists on printing everything out on spreadsheets...doesn’t he know there’s a cloud now?). I run back inside, waving to the nightguard, a jacked-up guy named Minos (I would _not_ want to encounter him in a dark alleyway), and take the empty lift back to the 12th floor. I figure by now that Davy is long gone. He doesn’t tend to keep late office hours, but the election has been keeping us all up later than usual. 

Sure enough, the hallway lights are down, but I see a sliver of light spread into the darkened hall. Davy’s door is slightly ajar, and as I walk by, I hear him talking to an unfamiliar voice inside. I pause, stilling my footsteps and holding my breath. 

“...could have been done a lot faster and cleaner had you wanted to. With a lot more money, of course.”

Not a voice I recognize. Okay - is Davy hiring a new consultant and forgot to tell me? But then why would he be holding meetings with him so late, after the whole staff has gone home for the evening?

“I think it was as fast as we could do it, given the timing. She needed to be removed before the election, correct? It was the only natural way before the merger went through,” I hear Davy respond.

A snort from the strange man. “Natural. Alright then.”

“It’s perfectly natural to die in a car accident. It happens to over 3,000 people a day. It was an ordinary occurrence - just what it was meant to look like.”

“Well, if I ever die a natural death in a fiery crash going through the West River tunnel, please tell my wife I loved her,” the stranger snickered. 

A fiery crash? In the tunnel? Before an election? Are they talking about…

“Natasha Pitch would have turned Salisbury Electric into a monopoly the likes of Standard Oil had the merger gone through,” I hear Davy’s voice again, “and who knows what other favorites she would have played had she made it to the mayor’s office. The tax breaks alone would have slashed the social services budget in half. The list would have gone on and on.”

“And I’m sure the merger taking over your electric co-op had nothing to do with it?”

I could practically hear his mustache quivering when he answered, “No, no. Come now - that would have only made me money I didn’t want. Or need.” 

“I ain’t here to argue with ya - but is it possible she wanted a state-run electric company to make cheaper power? For the city?”

“Absolutely not - only a fool would believe a Pitch was doing anything but for themselves.” I hear Davy give his sniff of disdain he reserves for the truly disgustingly wealthy. “And anyways, the Pitch boy won’t have too many accomplishments past the dam if the proposed charter amendments go through, and…”

I don’t wait for the rest.

I back away from the doorway as quietly as I can. 

_What did I just hear?_

_____________________

Once I get out at my stop, I practically sprint down the road back to my flat (practically, because fuck these Oxfords). I hear Penny on the other side and throw the door open, pausing in the doorway to lean over with my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.

“Simon! What on earth is going on? Was someone chasing you down the road?” Penny springs up and escorts me back to our sofa, shutting the door behind us. “Do you need some water?”

I plop down and sink into the cushions, leaning my head as far back as I can as I stare at the ceiling, my breaths slowing down. Where do I even start? Penny sits down next to me, and I finally look over to her. 

“Penny? I--I think I heard something I maybe shouldn’t have tonight about Davy.”

“Davy? Is it something about the campaign, then? We can check with Premal.”

“I’m not sure,” I shake my head. “I think he…” I pause, swallow. I can’t even say it out loud. “It sounds like maybe he…” I pause again, closing my eyes.

“Simon?” She gently puts her hand on my knee, encouraging me to continue. 

“I think Davy may be responsible for Natasha Pitch’s death?”

“ _EXCUSE ME_? Simon! You can’t just say things like that!” Penny explodes, jumping up from the sofa.

“I know! Obviously, I know!” I repeat, tugging at my hair. “But I know what I heard, and Penny? He wasn’t even sorry about it. He may have even sounded proud.”

“Simon, you must have misheard. Why would Mage even do that?”

“He said something about preventing her election and stopping some kind of big merger. With Salisbury Electric. Something about a monopoly in the city, him losing his electric co-op or something. Ugh! I don’t know!” I cry, wringing my hands.

“But Salisbury Electric is going to operate the dams, yes? Surely they’re a moral company, wanting to invest in green energy. And since when has Mage owned his own utility company?”

“Never that I heard, and sure, now they are. But who knows what was going on eight years ago.”

“Okay, Simon. Tell me everything you heard.”

I retell what I heard with as much accuracy as I can muster, but the details already feel like they’ve slipped through my fingers. When I finish, I look over to see Penny taking notes on her laptop, peering at her screen over the rim of her cateye glasses, her hair fluffed out in tufts ringing her round face.

“Pen, what’s that?”

“It’s a list. Obviously. Of what we know and what we don’t know.”

“You and your infernal lists,” I shake my head. “Alright, so what we know: Mage killed Natasha Pitch.”

“Oh, no no no, Simon, this isn’t how this works. That’s not something we know. It’s only something we’re _conjecturing_.”

“Well, how are we supposed to find out if it’s true, then?” 

“Research. And probably a little side-hacking. And maybe a little investigative journalist-ing.”

“Journalist-ing? What even is that, Pen?” I squint at her. 

“You know - being a journalist. Cracking open a story. I’ll call Shepard - this is right up his alley. He loves conspiracy theories. Remember his story in the _Phoenix Rising Weekly_ on how the Watford Bank guards were all secretly ex-Nazis that the government was hiding for Germany?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Pen - we can’t just go around telling all this to everybody!” I cry. “I have my job to think of, my position, Mage’s reelection. What if I’m wrong, and I’m so publicly discredited that I never work in City Hall again? Never work for Mage again?”

“Alright, I’ll wait on Shep. But not on the research. Or probably the hacking. And Simon? I think you know who else you need to tell,” she looks over at me knowingly.

I sigh the deepest sigh of frustration of the night and throw my head back against the sofa cushions once again.

“Yeah, Pen. I know.”

BAZ

I really didn’t need to move into the mayor’s mansion all the way in the park after I was elected; it felt excessive and wrong, like some feudal lord staring his nose down at his parcel of the kingdom. I opted to keep my own flat, which is near enough to City Hall that I can easily walk to work, the Black Goat for coffee, and take long walks along the riverfront to enjoy the fruits of my labors. I work late hours usually, and prefer strolling down the quiet streets, when the rush of daily commuters has thinned out. Most of Watford probably thinks I get escorted from place to place in the back of a black car, but most of the time, I’m on foot. 

I’m also less likely to be spotted this way. Not that the mayor of a mid-range city grants me celebrity status. But I’ve had my fair share of encounters with the odd eccentric (and ex-first dates). Still, I can defend myself if I have to. Not to brag, but I’m quick and I’m strong and have excellent reflexes thanks to years of martial arts classes my mother made me take. 

The night is a pleasant one. The warmth of Simon’s visit to my office is still lingering in the back of my mind somewhere - like a charming buzz after one glass of red wine. 

As I cut through City Hall Park to turn the corner towards my flat, I hear someone’s footsteps echoing behind me. I keep my pace steady so as to not betray that I know they’re following me, but the steps grow quicker, the breath huffs louder and closer, and so I spin around and thrust out my right arm, making contact with a hard pack of shoulder muscles, while I swing with my left, using my briefcase to knock them upside the head. 

A squeaky but familiar voice comes out of my stalker. 

“Ouch! What the actual _fuck_ , Baz?”

“Snow? What the hell are you doing here, sneaking up on me like a bloody stalker?” I lower my arms and my briefcase, brushing aside my hair with my free hand. 

“Wasn’t sneaking. You just walk so damn fast you blew right past me, so I had to run to keep up.”

“Past you?”

“Yeah, I was waiting on the park bench over there.” The idiot turns and gestures to one of the benches we had recently reinstalled in the park when we renovated this past spring.

“Waiting for what, exactly?”

“For you, obviously! Who else?” he huffs with exasperation.

I turn to fully face him now. “Snow. We just saw each other a few hours ago. It is highly irregular for someone to confront the mayor in a dark park late at night, would you agree?”

“I couldn’t just saunter up to your office, Baz. I need to talk to you. Like, now. It’s urgent.”

“We are talking. Despite the fact that you stalked me and I nearly assaulted you in the process.” 

“I wouldn’t say it was nearly," he says, rubbing his head. "And no, not like this. Just -- not here. In private.” I raise my eyebrow at him. He blanches delightfully for a moment. “And not in your office.” He looks around him, then grabs my arm at the elbow and starts dragging me farther down the stretch of road towards my flat.

“Snow! What are you doing? I demand to be told this instant what you want!” I wrench my arm out of his grasp. He looks hurt. And I don’t at all understand what’s going on. 

“Baz,” he drops his voice, steps closer towards me, leans in. I inhale sharply for a moment as he tilts closer, closer, until his lips practically brush my ear. He smells of soap and sweet bread. “I need to talk to you. It’s about your mom. _Please_ ,” he begs, stepping back, eyes searching my face for a reply, and I shiver at all of that - his proximity, and the words that just came out of his mouth. 

“I…” I’m caught off guard, by him and by his words. Any mention of my mother will send me reeling for a moment, but I recover quickly. “I really don’t know what this could be about. And this is a most unusual way of conducting government business, Snow.”

“Yeah, Baz. I know. I didn’t mean to stalk you. Or startle you. You know I wouldn’t have been on a stakeout in the park looking for you unless it was for something important.”

I sigh, appraising his face. It looks painfully earnest. “Alright. My flat’s right down the block a few minutes. I suppose we shall head there, then?” I ask, unsure if this is what he has in mind. I’ve never invited him over before. We don’t do that. 

“I know, Baz. Where do you think I was taking you?” he rolls his eyes at me.

“You know where I live, Snow?” I ask. He just shrugs at me. “Well then, I shall have to install a better security system now.”

“Can we just walk _while_ you berate me to save time, please?” He obviously doesn’t find me amusing. 

We walk the rest of the way in silence, our hands occasionally brushing as mine holds the handle of my briefcase and his clutches his satchel straps. I don’t know what to do with this, with him, while he’s walking next to me in the dark, so I ignore the side-sweeping and march forward, him facing down, me with my head and ears perked up. I’m fully aware that there’s a slight possibility that walking into my flat at night with Simon Snow may not be the best idea given the proximity of the election, and who Simon Snow is in general, but for now I don’t think I can be fussed to care about that. 

Because Simon came back for me. To tell me something. About my mother. And despite feeling scared, I want to hear it all.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Murder Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon struggles to communicate with Baz, Baz relives some of his own trauma, and David Mage is a luddite. Beer is good, but hugs are better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Welcome to Chapter 4 - in which everyone gets to relive a little bit of trauma and we get to laugh at David Mage's complete and utter inability to conform to the norms of a human in the 21st century. Fun fact - this little laugh at Mage's expense is based on my own father's very minimal understanding of technology, including mobile phones. 
> 
> Thank you as always to TheyIs, the most splendid beta of all betas (I mean, I don't really know since I've only had them as my beta, but I'm fairly certain this is a true statement).
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://snowbaz-mama.tumblr.com/), on which I seem to be spending increasingly more time not posting and enjoying everyone else!

SIMON

Baz’s flat is exactly what you’d think a trust fund baby’s flat would look like - like something out of a fucking West Elm catalog. Gray, beige, and monochrome walls and furniture, accented by the occasional colorful pillow in a jewel tone and some stupidly perfectly placed throw rugs against the warm, wide wooden floor planks. Nothing looks out of place and everything is arranged perfectly - exactly like his university studio used to look. 

“Wow,” I say looking around from the doorway. “Nice place you’ve got here, Baz. I mean, obviously. Not like you’d live in a hovel.”

“Yes, well, some of us do have standards for living, Snow. I assume you and Bunce at least have proper beds at this point in your lives.”

“Well, Pen does. I still sleep on my futon mattress.”

“Of course you do.” He considers me, still standing in the doorway. “Well, are you waiting for an invitation? Because you’ve made it this far without one,” he quips. 

“Right, yeah.” I move farther into his flat, not knowing if I should sit or stand for this. I opt for sitting down on the end of his chaise sectional, perched on the edge of the cushion, after putting my satchel down on the rug. I don’t think I want to get too comfortable.

He puts his briefcase down on the entry table, takes off his coat, then his shoes, carefully putting each of them in just the right places. He walks past me and disappears down a short hallway, reemerging with two glass bottles. He hovers over me for a moment, then hands me one. I turn the bottle in my hand to examine the label. It’s a beer (a craft beer of some brand you can only buy in person once a week from their pop-up on the other side of the river - typical), and I guess if I’m going to do this some liquid courage wouldn’t hurt. “Thanks. Cheers.”

“Cheers, Snow,” he says, as he and I take our first sips at the same time. He makes his way down to the opposite end of the sofa, also perching himself gingerly at the end of the cushion, not wanting to appear too comfortable himself.

“So. I don’t generally indulge myself in beer and conversations about my dead mother this late on a weeknight. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he asks me directly. 

I clear my throat. “Yeah. So, the thing is, Baz…” I clear my throat again. I have to get this absolutely right. I cannot mess this up. I put my beer bottle down on the coffee table and fold my hands into a prayer position in front of my face, my lips grazing my fingertips.

“Use a coaster, Snow - this is an Nkuku handmade table.”

“Uh, don’t know what that is, but sorry.” I scramble to lift my bottle and place a round rattan coaster under it.

“Better. Now go on.” 

“So...I forgot something in my office. After I left your chambers,” I start. “And I went back up to the 12th floor, and usually no one would be working at that time, but I heard something. Someone talking from behind Davy’s door.”

“And this was unusual because...?”

“Well, it’s not exactly, during election season, but he was talking with the door mostly closed, to a voice I didn’t recognize. That part  _ was _ unusual. And I heard them talking about…” I swallow with a loud gulp. 

He’s staring at me, waiting for me to finish. “What, is it some kind of plot to overthrow me before the election? I’m well aware of what Mage thinks he’s going to do to the city charter. He’s not exactly been opaque about his plans.”

“No, Baz. I mean, well, yes. Sorry, that part is a bit true. But that’s not what he and the strange man were talking about.”

“Alright, then, what is it? I really don’t have all night for this,” he huffs at me impatiently.

“They were talking about your mom, Baz. And how she died,” I continue nervously.

He stiffens at the mention of her. “It’s no secret how she died, Snow.” He steels himself to say the next part, but I can hear him quivering underneath. “I know it’s fun for some twisted people to compare my mother’s mayoral campaign to mine against Mage.” He grows more heated now. “But I’m not about to have her or the Pitch family name used against me during the campaign. That’s unethical. And it’s beneath you, Snow,” he breaths out angrily, “that you would allow Mage to--”

“It’s not that, Baz,” I cut him off. “I would never do that to you. You know I wouldn’t.”

“Then why was my mother’s name in  _ your  _ master’s mouth, Snow, behind closed doors?” he spits out venomously, his voice raised. 

“Well, it seems like maybe…” I just have to say it. It just needs to be said. It’s why I stalked him and then frogmarched him all the way back to his own flat. _Use my words_ , I think to myself. “I think Davy had something to do with her accident, Baz. And maybe...” I swallow, take a last deep breath, “he set it up to happen on purpose.” 

He freezes mid-sip and goes pale, his face falling and his eyes flickering through so many different emotions that I think he might fall off of the couch. I stand and walk over to where he’s sitting, taking the beer bottle out of his hands and putting it on the table behind me (with a coaster).

“No. You’re lying, Simon,” he whispers, shaking his head.

I crouch down in front of him, keeping enough distance between us so as to not make it awkward (as if anything could possibly make this moment any worse). I tentatively reach my hand out and place it on one of his knees.

“Don’t  _ touch _ me, Snow,” he says louder now, knocking my hand off of him so fast I nearly stumble back. I stand back up quickly to give him some space. I look down at him now and his eyes are glassy, like the tears are standing in line waiting for permission to fall out. 

“Baz, I only know what I overheard. Davy didn’t know I was there - didn’t think anyone was there. Why would he lie about this?”

He squares his face into something resembling control now. “Who else knows what you think you heard? I assume you ran home right away and told Bunce.”

I blush, looking down and toeing at the carpet. “Well, yeah. I mean. Yeah. Sorry.”

“You should have come to me first.” He exhales, then leans forward with his head in his hands. I’m not used to seeing Baz Pitch look so defeated, and though I’ve seen this posture before, it throws me now. He’s so far away from the intense university student he used to be, and yet he’s still the same Baz I knew back then.

“Baz, I--” I stop. How do I say this, without talking about the night his mother died? How do I remind him, and also not remind him, that it was me he was with when he found out that his mother’s life had ended in flames? That I would never want to reinjure him like that again if I could avoid it? And that now all I wanted was to help him figure out what may or may not have happened to her? 

“I remember. When we, when  _ you _ , found out.  Baz, I--I would never have come to you tonight...if I didn’t believe this was serious...I wouldn’t have brought all these--memories--up again. You have to know that,” I say, desperate to reassure him.

“And what help would you offer me then, Snow? What solution could you possibly propose, having just found out that your boss potentially hired a hitman to kill my mother?”

“A truce. We can work together - well, me, you, and Penny - to get to the bottom of it.”

“A truce? And you would, what, just continue working for him, knowing full well he could be a murderer?”

“Wouldn’t you rather have me on the inside in case he slips up and reveals something again?”

He pauses, leans back into the sofa and looks up, hoping his loft ceilings have an answer to offer him. “Look, Snow. I need some time to think about what to do with...this. Accusing my opponent of murdering one of my family members isn’t exactly a good look in the middle of a campaign.”

I exhale, long and slow. “Yeah. I get that. Take all the time you need. Maybe it could even wait until after the election?” I ask hopefully. 

“And what if he wins, Snow? Then we install a murderer as Watford’s mayor like some kind of Shakespearean tragedy?”

“Okay, maybe not the best idea to wait. Also not the best idea to come out with baseless accusations. Penny is already in the process of making a plan. With research. And maybe some computer hacking.” He looks up at me and raises his infernal eyebrow. “And may enlist the help of her friend Shepard for some investigative reporting.”

“Shepard? The one with the buttons and the conspiracy theories?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. If you think about it, this is pretty much his perfect story, isn’t it?”

“That it is, Snow, that it is.” He looks at me again, like he’s waiting for something else from me, but I don’t know what it is. So I just shove my hands in my pockets and walk to the end of the sofa to pick up my bag. 

“Well, you could come over tomorrow evening if you like and we can all...talk it out. Make a plan. It’ll be a Friday night after all. Even the mayor must enjoy a Friday night out now and again.”

“The mayor does. I don’t know if this exactly qualifies as a ‘night out,’ as you say. Still...” he continues, and my hopes start getting up. 

When was the last time Baz and I truly worked together as a team? We were always so good when we did - so good together. 

“We could order in?” I say hopefully, hoping I don’t sound as pathetic as I feel. I have truly put myself into a compromising position, practically begging the mayor of Watford to come to my shabby apartment to talk about how my boss may have murdered his mother and how my roommate could probably do something illegal to help us get to the bottom of it.

“Very well. Here, give me your mobile.” I hand him my Nokia 3320 and he bursts out laughing. “What the fuck is this, Snow?”

“What? It’s my work phone. Davy gave one to each of his staff.”

“Snow, this phone is twenty years old.”

“Well, it’s the kind Davy likes to use.”

“Oh my god -- and the man calls himself a progressive. Okay, I meant your personal mobile anyway. Surely you have one of those.”

“Oh, sure, wait just a sec.” I fumble around in my bag for a moment before triumphantly producing my ordinary iPhone 6s. He levels another look at me. “What? It still works fine!” I hand it to Baz. Our fingers brush momentarily in the exchange and I notice him tense as he grabs for it. He punches something in, then hands it back more carefully this time.

“Alright. I gave you my personal number. No work business texts on there. Just murder business. Text me now so I have your number and I’ll call you if I decide to take you up on your offer.”

“Erm, murder business. Got it.” I move towards the door to leave when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn around to face Baz, just as he’s pulling his hand back like he’s been shocked. He looks scared but brave - just how I remember him looking that night. 

“I…” He stops speaking when I move in. I don’t even think about it. I just wrap my arms around him, giving him a light, quick squeeze. When I step back, I let my hands linger for a short moment on his shoulders. 

He looks a little taken aback, but his expression evens out to something like sincerity. “Thank you, Snow. You didn’t have to come here. Or do...anything.”

“Of course I did, Baz. This is your mother. I know Davy is my boss, my mentor even, but if there’s the slightest possibility that he’s done something shady -- no,  _ illegal _ \-- to hurt you and your family, I’m out of there. It’s just not right. I’m not about to be a henchman in some House of Cards shit that’s about to go down.”

“Pity - you’d make a perfect Doug Stamper to Mage’s Frank Underwood.”

“Not funny, Baz.” 

“You love it.” He smiles ruefully a bit for the first time tonight, and I flash him a crooked grin back.

And I do. 

BAZ

I practically collapse against the door after Simon leaves. I think about my mother almost every single day -- what she would think about me, if she’d be proud of who I’ve become -- but I don’t like being reminded of her death, which was the sort of horrifyingly tragic death that happens to Princess Diana or Aaliyah, not to a local politician. Not to your own mother.

Sure, Natasha Pitch was local-famous -- an heiress who ran many charities, a successful career at her investment firm, a happy marriage to my father, mother to...me. Her death meant something to the citizens of Watford, and it shattered my family into pieces that I don’t think can or will ever be glued back together the right way. 

I think back to the night I found out. Simon and I had been paired up in our econ class as debate partners -- he was defending Keynesian Economics (of course), while I defended fiscal conservatism (typical). I’m pretty sure Mage did this on purpose - although he claims he sorted partners at random. We were at my studio, practicing each other’s defenses, perfecting our friendly antagonists act we’d managed to strike during class when I got the call. 

Normally I would have let it go to voicemail (I did have a beautiful man in my studio after hours, after all), but there’s something that happens to your brain and your gut when your father is calling at 11:45 at night on a Tuesday - your insides twist, your brain resets itself, preparing for what you already know will be bad news on the other side of the line. 

The phone dropped from my hands. I felt myself falling, struggling to breath. I don’t know if I was up or down. Simon ran to me immediately, frantic, laying hands on my heaving shoulders, “Baz, Baz, what’s wrong, Baz? What happened, Baz?” 

I lay there for seconds, minutes, hours unresponsive, before finally looking at him. I couldn’t say it out loud. I grasped for my phone, Googling the news headlines and passing it to Simon to read for himself. His eyes widened, his perfect mouth formed an open O. Putting the phone back down again, he returned to my side, whispering now, “Baz, Baz, I’m here, Baz, what can I do, Baz, it’s okay, Baz,” saying my name like a blessing or a curse, I couldn’t tell which in that moment.

I don’t even remember being moved to the sofa. I only remember him crouched in front of me, placing his hand gently on my knee. And I left it there, leaning forward, and let his forehead touch mine. “What do I do now, Simon? What happens now?” 

It’s become apparent tonight that we’re both still answering that question. 


	5. Meatball Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bored by 10:45, flimsy excuses, across-the-desk flirting, and meatballs are way too messy for take-out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Welcome back to Election Season! The real election is getting closer and closer, which is more and more terrifying, but Simon and Baz make everything better. Thank you again to my lovely friend and beta TheyIs for helping me get through a hard week (even though it's only Wednesday) and pointing out the shitty ways society has brainwashed me (and everybody!) into thinking about food choices.

SIMON

The wait until Friday evening feels like five workdays. I’ve read and reread Davy’s prepared statements for the budget meeting next week, practically memorizing the binder. I’ve flagged the city charter in the places he’s asked me to, steeling myself for his next faceoff with Baz. And I’ve met with Premal about a campaign event scheduled for Sunday across the river at Wavering Wood Brewery (I guess the way to a progressive hipster’s heart is truly through his microbrew). 

That’s like my whole to-do list. And it’s only 10:45 in the morning. 

Davy strolls into my office just as I was about to check my phone again for a call from Baz. I look up at him, but find I just can’t look him in the eyes right now.

“Simon, my boy. How’s it going? Have you started flagging the city charter like I asked?”

“Yes, sir, of course. See?” I hold the thick booklet up to him so he can see the myriad colored highlighter flags I’ve stuck on the end of many of the pages.

“Good, good, that’s very good. Say, Simon - did you manage to make your way up to the mayor’s chambers yet?” He pauses, clears his throat, then lowering his voice adds, “Like we spoke about yesterday?”

I pause a beat. What do I say to throw him off me for a bit? “Oh. Well, yeah, I did, actually.” I don’t know how much to tell him, but then realize I don’t have anything to tell him after all. “Niall didn’t have the binders for the council yet, and we just talked about the dam project a bit. Didn’t tell me anything we didn’t already know.” I swallowed and continued, “But I did manage to goad him for his poor track record on our city’s social welfare policies.”

His lip twitched slightly as he cleared his throat and adjusted the cuffs of his tweed blazer. “Good, good, Simon. Get him on the defensive. Remind him what we’ve got over him. Well done,” he says, clapping me on my shoulder in approval. I suddenly wasn’t sure I wanted to do anything well for this man. “Well, you know what to do if you hear anything.”

I turn away from him and look down at my desk. “Yeah, I do.” 

____________________

At 11:30, I end up wandering back up to the 25th floor with the thin excuse to get the council’s binders from Niall (even though I know they’ll send them down - there are way too many to carry on my own). I walk into the spacious foyer and see Niall, a tall redhead with swoopy red bangs, leaning forward on the desk and looking up at Dev, perched on the edge looking down at Niall. They’re talking softly and laughing about something that’s probably not budget related.

I clear my throat, not really wanting to interrupt...whatever this is. They both freeze and look up suddenly, blushing furiously and springing apart. Dev stands and approaches me. “Snow.”

“Uh, hi Dev. Ba--I mean, the mayor said you’d have the budget binders prepared after your meeting yesterday morning? Davy - uh, Mr. Mage - is hoping to get them distributed to the city council before the weekend, if that’s okay.” 

“Yes, I think Niall’s had them copied.” He throws his head over his shoulder without taking his eyes off me. “Niall, are they copied?”

He glares at me from behind Dev’s back. “Yes, Dev, they’re copied.”

“They’re copied. So there you go, Snow. We’ll have them sent down to the council offices. Anything else we can do for you?” It was clear that Dev, as Baz’s cousin (clearly their steely glare is hereditary), and Niall, as his personal assistant, were extraordinarily protective of him and didn’t trust me as far as they could throw me. Can’t say I really blame them all that much. 

“Yeah, I was sort of hoping to see if the mayor was in? I had a question for him. About the meeting next week.”

“I’m the budget undersecretary. The questions can go through me,” he says, folding his arms in front of him. 

Just as I was about to spew some garbage excuse about needing to talk to Baz about mill zoning for the zoning board meeting next month, he appears in the doorway of his chambers, hair back in a bun today, wearing a black leather blazer with a red mock turtleneck underneath and fitted charcoal trousers, and suddenly I can’t seem to make my mouth move or make comprehensible human noises. He’s leaning against the doorway like he’s doing a fucking cover shoot (he has, in fact, done many cover shoots).

“Oh, hey Ba--umm, your honor. I was just hoping we could check in about the uh, zoning board meeting?”

He raises his eyebrow at me. “That isn’t even until next month, Snow.”

I shuffle uncomfortably. Now he and Dev and Niall are all staring at me, wondering what I’m doing here. “Yeah, but, I know you had some ideas to present to the zoning board, and I wanted to give you admin’s position--and I needed the budget binders. For council.”

Dev turns to Baz as if to say, is this guy for real? Baz rolls his eyes. It’s a whole silent conversation. 

“Well, you came all the way up here, so you might as well come in.”

Dev looks floored. Niall just smirks. I duck my head and follow Baz through the doorway.

BAZ

God, he’s adorable when he’s embarrassed. 

I close the door behind us as Simon finds his way to the seat opposite mine at my desk and plunks himself down. 

“Zoning board meeting? Really, Snow, you couldn’t come up with something better than that? Mage isn’t even on the zoning board of appeals.”

“Look, I panicked,” he says, carding his fingers through his hair. “Dev did not look like he was going to let me come in here.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t have. He hates you,” I say offhandedly with a smile. 

“Yeah, I kind of figured.” He looks down, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt (light purple today - it suits him). “So, are we…”

“Are we what, Snow?” I know what he’s here to ask, but I’m trying to draw this out as long as humanly possible. I want to hear him say what we are. 

“You know, on a truce? Are you,” he pauses, allowing for one showy swallow before continuing, “coming over tonight?” The tips of his ears turn red as he looks away from me. 

I wonder then what he’s really thinking, feeling. Sure, this isn’t easy for me, but my mother has been dead for eight years and this news didn’t exactly change that. Bring up terrible memories? Sure. Make me trust Mage even less? Absolutely. But Snow has practically built his adult life around a man who may not be who he thinks he is. Instead of living in denial, he’s decided to charge at it, face it head on. 

He’s always been a courageous fuck. I could almost hug him for it.

Instead I look into his expectant eyes. Ordinary blue. They’re waiting for something. I think it’s me.

I don’t keep him waiting any longer. “What time should I be there, Snow?”

A smile that threatens to split the sky open appears on his face. “I’m usually home by 6:30.”

“You’re out of here by 6:30? PM? Every night?”

“No, I actually leave by six. Why would I hang around an empty office?” He looks genuinely perplexed. 

“Oh, Snow...you truly have no idea,” I shake my head. “Mayors don’t stop working. Or sleep. Not really. Or at least not deeply.” 

“No offense Baz, but that sounds really fucking awful. Who would even want this job?”

I spread my hands out before me. “Yes, well, I am the epitome of a civil servant, what can I say? I sacrifice all I am, all I could be, and my social life, for the people.”

I get a snorty kind of smile from him for that one. I love to make him laugh. “How noble of you. Alright then. I’ll text you mine and Penny’s address. Just give us a head’s up when you’re on your way so we can order food. Have you ever eaten at Marconi’s?”

“Yes, but Italian for take-out? How about tacos from Mi Frontera. I can’t go around spilling meatballs on this sweater, Snow. It’s from fashion week in Milan.” 

“Jesus, Baz. No wonder banks and real estate developers love you so much.”

“Don’t forget the utility companies,” I smirk. 

____________________

Fiona comes blazing in as I’m packing up for the evening. “And where do you think you’re going this early, boyo? I thought we had a campaign event to plan.”

I freeze. I had not really thought through what, if anything, I was going to tell Fiona about these revelations. I needed more time, more information, before going to her. I couldn’t get her riled up about her sister’s death for no reason - couldn’t hurt her like that. 

“It’s already 7:00 on a Friday night, Fiona. And I...have a date. A second date. Like you suggested,” I say slowly. Inside I feel like it may be a half-truth. 

She smiles slyly at me and punches me in the arm. I wince, rubbing my bicep. “Atta boy, then. See - you’re charming when you want to be.”

“I’m always charming,” I sniff at her. 

“Well, I hope you’re going to a local place. It’ll do your campaign some good to be seen supporting small businesses. Mage is rallying at Wavering Wood on Sunday,” she rolls her eyes. “So many bearded men in flannel shirts.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Fiona. And, I’ll have you know we’re actually eating in tonight, so don’t send the paparazzi after me quite yet. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” I wrap my cashmere scarf around my neck, then shrug into my herringbone Norweigan Wool topcoat. I grab my briefcase from my desk and move to walk out of my chambers. Fiona steps in front of me.

“You’re not even going home to change, Basil? That’s rather unusual for you.”

“It is, but I’m wearing my Milan sweater, so I think this will do,” I say, looking away. 

She looks up at me. I stare deliberately at her white streak to avoid looking into her eyes. I hate lying to her; she’s always been my protector, my surrogate mother, even when my mother was still alive. The first person I came out to; the first I got drunk and smoked cigarettes with; the one who encouraged me to return to university after the funeral. I don’t know that I even would have graduated without her scraping me off the floor of my childhood bedroom and reminding me that a Pitch never surrenders. 

“Is something else the matter?” she asks, searching my face for something I can’t tell her yet. I try schooling it into something believable, even though I know she knows...something.

“Of course not. Everything’s fine. Now, if you’re done slut shaming me, I’ll be on my way,” I say, trying to change the subject. I begin marching deliberately towards the door to get out of here and to Simon and Bunce’s flat as quickly as possible. 

“Alright, have a good time, then,” she says. “And use protection!” she yells out after me as I disappear into the lift.

Even though I’m alone in here, my face heats up from embarrassment as I think of bronze curls and broad shoulders pressed against me last night so gently, so briefly. 

I am well and truly fucked.


	6. Plotting Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks of what almost was, Baz takes a leap, Simon is freaking out about his throw pillows, and Penny plots. The gang gets together to solve a mystery!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helllloooo everyone! Wow -- the SnowBaz fanficverse is hopping these days! I'm honored to be contributing just a little bit to all the amazing fics out right now (I can barely keep up with all of my fav writers out there - keep it up!).
> 
> Election Season here in the U.S. is going to be over soon (VOTE-VOTE-VOTE, all of you who can! It's the election of our lifetime!), but things are just heating up in Watford.
> 
> More worshipping at the feet of the supreme beta TheyIs. 
> 
> And here's [The Tumblr](https://snowbaz-mama.tumblr.com/), where I mostly just like the rest of your posts and share random art here and there.

BAZ

I’m standing outside Simon and Bunce’s flat.

Scratch that. I’m standing on the street outside the door of Simon and Bunce’s flat, suddenly very nervous about what I’m about to become a part of - my mother’s death a mystery I didn’t know needed solving. 

I don’t like all that this is making me think, making me feel. 

There’s a smoldering pit of embers and ash in my heart where her memory has long lain dormant. But now its fires have been bellowed back to life, the flames licking at my insides.

There’s a circus in my stomach, as I feel the nerves alight on my body all over again, thinking about walking into Simon’s home, his personal space. 

Because I can’t help but think of the last time I was in this position - the last class of our third year at university. I had bought a growler from Crucible (his favorite brewery) for him and Bunce to share, and to congratulate ourselves on a hard-fought term (third-year seminar on political geography is no joke, and Bunce and I had fought our way through the Great Vowel Shift in History of the English Language). It wasn’t all that out of the ordinary now for me to stop by, and since I was going to be spending that summer in New York, interning with a family friend of my mother’s, I felt like I owed both of them a good-bye. 

I remember standing outside, knocking, expecting Bunce to open the door. But instead, there was Simon, curls overgrown and sticking up everywhere and illuminated by the light behind him, standing in the doorway in a thin Pixies t-shirt and track bottoms, holes in the big toe of his athletic socks. I held up the bottle as if it were an entry ticket; he smiled and let me in.

“Where’s Bunce? This is for her, too. Can’t have you hogging it all.”

“Oh! She’s uh...she went out with Agatha, actually.” He looked down at his feet, shuffled them around, before turning from me to sit on the sofa. I followed.

“Oh? And you decided not to join them?”

"Uh, no. We umm, that is, Agatha and I...we broke up.” He shrugged. “A month ago, actually.”

My heart skipped, just a fraction of a beat. “Oh--I see. I’m sorry, Snow.” I paused awkwardly. I don’t know why I asked; I should have put the bottle down and left. “Mind if I have a pint to commiserate with you in your misery before I go, then? To celebrate the end of the term.”

“Yeah, Baz. I’d uh -- I’d like that a lot, actually.”

He got two glasses and we each had a couple of pints, groaning about our final exams, sharing our plans for the summer, wondering about what our final year at university would be like. 

As our glasses emptied, our proximity on the sofa grew closer, his body and breath felt warmer, his laughs got louder, and our hands began to skim the surface of each other. I remember feeling like I was floating, weightlessly being sucked into his orbit, his eyes, his smile, his laugh an inevitable gravity. I looked up and suddenly he was so close to me, all of him. I could see every mole dotting his face, every constellation in his blue irises. 

I froze; he didn’t. He moved so fast I hardly saw it coming, like a bird darting out of the bushes. His lips connected with mine, tasting of cinnamon and honey and hops, and I wanted to fall through the tunnel he’d just opened up inside me and land at the bottom in his arms. I felt him smile against my mouth, which made a tiny moan bubble out of my throat as we moved in closer, closer still. 

The Pixies sang in the background: “ _ Where is my mind? Where is my mind? Wheeeere is my mind?” _

It wasn’t my first kiss, but it felt like it.

Then his phone rang, shattering our moment as quickly as it had begun. And he actually  _ answered it _ , the utter moron, springing up from the sofa so fast I was nearly knocked back. 

When he was done speaking, he turned to me, his jaw looking like it was going to need scraping off of the floor. “Baz, I…I’ve been...chosen.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “For what, Simon?”

“The internship.”

I looked at him like he was speaking an unknown language. “ _ Which _ internship, Snow?” The only one I knew of, the one everyone knew of, was the Watford City Hall Initiative, awarded to the top of the class of political science majors for their final year of university. Everyone in the department already knew that internship was going to, well...to me. 

“The City Hall internship. That was Professor Mage. He...I…” He couldn’t finish his sentence.

I looked at him, stunned. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? “No, Snow. That can’t be. It’s supposed to go to--”

“To you, Baz, I know. But the committee decided they wanted---I mean they said it should go to…” He was pulling his hair now at an alarming rate. 

“To you. Mage picked  _ you _ .” I leveled him with a glare I hope he understood meant I was done being nice to him now. Clearly he and Mage had planned this all along to get back at me for being so successful despite having lost my mother first year. And this night was just some sick joke of Simon’s that Mage put him up to. Right when I thought that we were...that maybe finally we could…

I couldn’t even finish thinking it. 

“Well then.” I stood up quickly from the sofa. “Congratulations. It seems you are the official Chosen One after all.” I rushed towards the door to leave. I needed to exit this space, filled with his smell and memories of his taste, immediately. I felt his hand grab my elbow to stop me from leaving, but I wrenched it out of his grasp. “Get off of me, Snow,” I half-yelled, half-whimpered, and ran out the door. 

I left. I never turned back to see his face in the doorway - don’t know if it was filled with hurt, or regret, or desire, or mirth. We never spoke of that evening again. Our malice, which had cooled and leveled off into something like friendship, more than friendship now perhaps, over the years, came flooding back, etching out a river too deep to cross. 

And here I was, about to cross it again, not really sure of what was waiting for me on the other side.

SIMON

“PENNY! Oh my god, Penny,  _ please _ straighten out the pillows on the sofa and clear off the coffee table!” I am freaking out. Like, five seconds from losing it, because Baz Pitch is coming over to my flat and I’d really rather he not start this evening off with a lasting impression of my slovenliness. 

The tacos are set out in the kitchen (but maybe I should have gone with the meatballs?). I do a once-over of the living room, peek my head in the bathroom to make sure it’s clean and smells half-way decent, and come back to wait on the sofa, bouncing my knee up and down impatiently. I check my phone again to confirm that he’s really coming.

“Simon, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think he expects too much of us. He  _ did _ see our flat during university,” she says, reaching down to plug in her laptop. She has a notebook spread out in front of her on the end table with a cup full of multicolored Flair pens, ready to go. 

“Yeah but, we’re adults now, right? And Pen, you should see his flat. It’s ridiculous.”

“Well, not only is he Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, he’s also the mayor of Watford. I mean, he could have moved into the mayoral mansion if he wanted to.”

I force a heavy puff of air out of my mouth, stand up, and start pacing back and forth, running my hand over the back of my hair when I hear the buzzer. 

I jump a mile. Penny looks up at me from the sofa, sighing. “Relax, Simon. He reached out to you, right? He wants to be here. Now, let the mayor in!”

I practically fall into the door and smash my hand on the button to buzz him up.

“You weren’t even going to check through the intercom to make sure it was him?” Penny asked, staring at me with that look she gets when I’m being moronic. I shrug and go to open the door when I hear his footsteps still outside. 

I open up and am rendered speechless again, because Baz Pitch, the mayor of Watford, is really standing in my doorway. He’s wearing some fancy coat over the same outfit from this morning, except now he’s carrying a bottle of wine and his hair is falling out of his bun in little pieces framing his face. “Hey,” I say dumbly, running my hands through my hair.

“Good evening,” he replies, making brief eye contact with me before looking over my head to Penny. “Hello, Bunce. Lovely to see you,” he says. I step aside to let him through, holding my arms out to take his coat and scarf, which he shrugs off in one elegant motion. Penny rises from the sofa, and as she reaches him she actually  _ hugs _ him, grasping him around the waist. Baz looks down fondly at her, patting her shoulder as I watch from the side, hands in my pockets, just a little bit jealous of the returned affection. 

“It’s been too long, Basil,” she says, stepping back and adjusting her glasses as she looks up at him.

“It has,” he says wistfully, clearing his throat. “I brought something for the house. Here you go,” he says as he turns to hand me the bottle of what is undoubtedly something from a rack I wouldn’t even have looked at twice. I take it, my arms now weighed down with expensive wine  _ and _ expensive outerwear. 

I place my armful down on the entry table. “Thanks, Baz. This’ll go great with the Marconi’s I ordered for us.”

His eyes widen as I laugh and swat him playfully on the arm. “Just kidding. I got the tacos. Wouldn’t want you to ruin your Viennese sweater on the first night we worked together.” First night. First night of how many nights, I wonder. 

“Milanese, Snow.”

“Whatever. Have a seat. I’ll get us some glasses.” I bring the wine to the kitchen, opening the bottle and then bringing back three poured glasses for us. 

“So,” Baz begins, smoothing his trousers down nervously before taking a glass. He’s sitting between me and Penny, and looks at each of us one by one before beginning. He clears his throat and seems uncharacteristically nervous, but clearly wants to get something off his chest. “I...I want to thank the two of you, first of all. For taking the time to tell me about what you heard. And for offering to help out. It’s been a strange 24 hours. Snow has given me a lot to ponder, and I would like to offer whatever help I can.” He pauses, looking to us again. We nod our heads at him, encouraging him to go on.

“There is the need to be ahhh...a bit discreet, it’s fair to say, given my position. So I’m hoping that until we know something definitively, we can refrain from informing Commissioner Possibelf or any other...authority...until we can bring them some conclusive proof of a misdeed.”

God, why does everything he say sound like he’s addressing a court of law? 

It’s honestly the prettiest thing I’ve ever heard, listening to Baz Pitch talk.

“Of course, Basil. We understand the immense sensitivity of the issue. And I just want to assure you that I won’t be running to Premal or anyone else on the campaign with any information we turn up.” Penny looks at me, raising her eyebrows, hinting for me to add something.

“Oh uhh...right. Yeah, me either, Baz. I mean, you know I wouldn’t say anything to Davy. Until we know something for sure.”

“Even then -- we have to be careful who we talk to, and how we tell them. This is a serious accusation you’re levying against a candidate for mayor  _ and _ the highest ranking member of the city council. If what you heard turns out to be even a little bit true, we’re talking about a major scandal, a federal investigation, and the takedown of a powerful and well-respected man.” He makes a face of disgust at that last part.

“Don’t you think we know that, Basil?” says Penny softly, reaching for Baz’s arm. “Look -- I don’t know what we can tell you, but we  _ will _ show you that you can trust us. Look,” she says, handing Baz her color-coded notebook. “These are all the notes I’ve already taken from my research so far.”

His gray eyes scan intently over Penny’s color-coded notes. “What is all this, Bunce? ‘Merry Men Green Energy’? It sounds like Robin Hood tried to start a power company.”

"Something like that. Turns out Davy sat on the board of this green energy co-op from the mid-90s to right before your mother died. It was quite ahead of its time, actually, in trying to incorporate solar and hydroelectric power into the grid. And, what Simon heard about a merger was true -- this is all in public record, by the way. Found it on PitchBook.com -- it looks like your mother’s equity firm was negotiating the merger between Salisbury Electric and Merry Men when she died.”

Baz continues to read through the rest of Penny’s pages before handing the notebook back. “She did transactions like this regularly. If it was on PitchBook there was nothing untoward about it. And at that point in her campaign she was mostly recusing herself from this sort of business. I am a bit surprised to hear about Mage’s involvement in anything corporate, but it seems a move like that would have stood to make him quite a bit of money. Why would he have objected?”

“Davy said he didn’t want or need the money,” I chime in. 

“People like Mage may say that, but they never really mean it,” Baz says, tapping his forefinger to his lips. “It just doesn’t make any sense in the grand scheme of things. And I don’t see how this connects to him wanting to see my mother dead.”

“There must have been something else going on that precipitated the merger then,” says Penny. “Like, companies don’t just combine out of nowhere, right? Something started the negotiations between Salisbury and Mage. Or someone.”

“Well, who approached who?” I say. “Maybe that’s our starting point? Penny, is that something we can find out? Who initiated the deal?”

“Sure - I mean, I don’t know if that’s exactly in the public record, though. But it would probably be in a file somewhere in Salisbury’s network since Merry Men doesn’t exist anymore and Davy doesn’t exactly have any computer skills. Does he at least own a computer now, Simon?” asks Penny.

I roll my eyes. “Yes. But you know he likes to do everything on paper,” I say. “Wait! He keeps everything on paper…” I say slowly. “That means it’s probably in his files in his storage room somewhere. He never throws anything away.”

“Wait -- Mage has his  _ own storage room _ ? Since when, exactly?” exclaims Baz. 

“Nevermind that, Baz - the important thing is that he actually has one. Could you access his storage room, Simon? I can certainly handle getting into Salibury’s files,” says Penny.

“I’m going to pretend I did not hear that part of the plan,” says Baz. “Actually - maybe it’s better that I pretend I didn’t hear anything and try asking my father what he knew about any deals my mother was working on before she died. Or about her relationship with the Saliburys. They are members of the club, you see.”

I snort. “ _ The club _ . What the fuck even is that, Baz?”

“You know, _ the club  _ \-- tennis, a lap pool, sauna. Overpriced luncheons. Mingling. Negotiating deals over 100-year-old bottles of scotch. Oh!” he says. “I could probably see if Mage was ever a guest there. Father always said old Salisbury cut the best deals when he was three tumblers in.”

“Finally - your obnoxiously wealthy family is good for something.”

“You wound me, Snow,” he smirks at me, placing his hand over his heart in mock pain. I just roll my eyes at him and smile. I can’t help but notice he’s smiling right back at me, his gray eyes freezing me in place.

“Okay then,” interrupts Penny. “So - do we have the start of something like a plan? I will check Salisbury Electric’s files for any notes on the Merry Men merger. Baz, you speak with your father or try to sweet talk someone into handing over the guest records of the club, and Simon, you’re sneaking into the storage room.”

“M’not ‘sneaking in,’ exactly. I mean, I do  _ work _ there.”

“Yeah, but I assume Mage would have it under lock and key, Snow, yes?” Baz asks. 

“Oh well, yeah. I think he does keep it locked, now you mention it,” I scratch at the back of my head.

“Well -- you’re in luck. I just happen to know the mayor. I hear he has a key to every door in City Hall,” Baz says, looking triumphant. My eyes widen at him. 

“ _ Every  _ door? In the whole _ building _ ?” I ask with disbelief.

“Well, a skeleton key of sorts - never tried it on every door, but I suppose we can start in the storage room. I’ll text you on Monday when I’ve got a moment. Now,” he says, placing his wine down on the coffee table, “tacos?” 

“You mean meatballs, right?” I say, trying to piss him off again.

Instead he just stares at me, raising his infernal eyebrow. “You seem awfully obsessed with Marconi’s balls, Snow.”

“I--I’m not--” I turn bright red and flee to the kitchen before it gets any worse, Penny and Baz following and laughing right behind me. 


	7. Soot Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Former boiler rooms, dark corners aren't as sexy as you think they would be, phones as document cameras, SWEATPANTS!, and urgent phone calls. Turns out skeleton keys and debates about economic models are a turn on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Welcome to the last weekend before our IRL election in the U.S.! I hope everyone out there who is able has a safe plan for voting this Tuesday! 
> 
> I originally believed that I'd have this whole story out by election day to raise our spirits, but as that is clearly not the case, enjoy this latest installment where we see our favorites moving closer to uncovering more than just the shady truth about the past (but they do that, too!). 
> 
> TheyIs is a master proofreader and their daily emails and feedback give me life. That is all. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> [Tumblr, etc.](https://snowbaz-mama.tumblr.com/)

SIMON

The weekend passes by in a blur. Saturday, shopping with Penny. Sunday, Mage’s campaign event at Wavering Wood Brewing Company.

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t mind attending - would be excited, even. The beer there really is excellent. And honestly, Davy is a captivating public speaker in front of the right crowd, and he has the beer lovers in the palm of his hand. But I’ve been distracted all weekend, impatiently waiting to get my hands on...something.

There’s got to be something -- _ right _ ?

Or have I misheard and misread this situation entirely wrong? God, I hope not. I need to know that I’m working for the right man. I need to know that I haven't messed with Baz’s head and heart for no reason. 

The special meeting to vote on the dam budget is Thursday, and I’m scrutinizing the binders that Dev put together to find some kind of flaw, some kind of sound and logical argument for Davy to construct against it. But I just can’t. Baz is too good, his plan unsurprisingly flawless. Watford really will be better off for it.

I’ve got to hand it to the fucker - he knows how to get shit done. I don’t think Davy has the votes.

I secretly smile at this.

As I’m daydreaming about the council shooting down the city administrator’s admonitions to vote against the project, my phone buzzes, shaking me back to reality. I scramble through my satchel to find it, seeing two words on the screen.

**_Baz:_ ** _ Busy, Snow?  _

Of course he uses punctuation in a text. My clumsy fingers scramble to write back quickly.

**Me:** I happen to be looking for a locksmith. Know of any round City Hall? 

God, it takes forever to text this way, with capitalization and shit.

**_Baz:_ ** _ Perhaps. If you can manage to stay in the office past your usual 6 PM departure time, I may know a guy.  _

I snort at that one.

**Me:** Know a guy? You sound like someone in the mob

**_Baz:_ ** _ No comment. So?  _

**Me:** I will not depart before 6 PM 

**_Baz:_ ** _ Splendid. I shall let you know when, you let me know where. _

**Me:** That sounds shady as shit, Baz

**_Baz:_** _That’s Your Honor to you, Mr. Snow._

I grin stupidly and tuck my phone into my back pocket.

_______________________

I’m pacing back and forth in front of the storeroom door, gripping my satchel strap and glancing nervously up and down the hallway. Most of the staff has left, but they noticed right away that it was past 6 and I was still weirdly working. It was easy enough to play it off as getting ready for this week’s budget meeting or doing something for Davy’s campaign. Davy himself wasn’t even in today - said he had a meeting with another power company advisor somewhere. 

Still. It’s creepy as fuck down here. The real records room is located in the City Archives on the fifth floor, but Davy found a space down here to keep some of his records from when he taught at the university and who knows what else. I think this used to be the boiler room back when they were shoveling coal into a furnace to keep the building warm. Probably hired little orphan street urchins or something to keep it going. 

If this were 100 years ago, that probably would’ve been me. 

I hear a ding up the hall and jump a mile, but then realize it’s just the lift. I take a deep breath (not too deep - it’s really fucking dusty down here) and still my pacing as I wait for Baz. 

I watch his figure as he saunters down the hall, one arm swinging his briefcase. Even though I know it’s him, I’m still startled when he appears besides me. The hall lights are spread far apart, casting him in a dark shadow.

“Jesus, Baz - you look like Slender Man,” I say to try and lighten the mood. He actually looks ridiculously dazzling in some crazily patterned shirt tucked into slim black trousers.  _ Of course _ this horrible lighting only makes him look more angled and mysterious. 

“Now, now, Snow - if I really were Slender Man I would’ve brought along my human proxy to kill you now that I’ve lured you to this isolated locale. As you can see, it’s just me. And,” he reaches down into his trousers pocket (how there’s enough room to store anything in there, I don’t know), “these.” He twirls them around his finger teasingly. I grab for them but he snatches his hand back lightning quick. 

“Ah, ah, ah -- mayors first, Snow.”

I scowl at him. God, he can be such a prick sometimes. 

BAZ

He is so easy to rile up. 

I slip one of the keys into the storage room door. Turn to the left. Click. I try the knob and it turns, opening the door to reveal a 20x20 windowless enclave with rows of tall wire rack shelves filled with accounting boxes. 

“Oh my god...you really do have a skeleton key, Baz. This is amazing!” Simon breaths out in a whisper. He steps in front of me into the room, feeling along the wall for a switch. No luck. I shine the flashlight on my phone around the room and notice a bare bulb with a string hanging from the ceiling. I walk to the center of the room and give it a tug. A ghastly pallor spreads from the middle of the room outwards, revealing shadows of cobwebs in every corner.

I walk over to one of the racks of file boxes, running a finger along one of the cardboard lids. I hold it in front of my face to inspect it and notice a heavy smear of black on the pad of my fingertip. Disgusting. I shudder at the thought of leftover boiler soot getting on my ready-to-wear Prada fall 2020 button up.

“Ugh - this place is utterly disgusting. When’s the last time anyone’s been down here, Snow?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs. “Mage usually sends one of the interns down here to move boxes around and file stuff away for him.”

“Of course he does. God forbid he come down here himself and risk getting black lung disease,” I sniff, then sneeze as I accidentally inhale the dust from the box top. 

“Baz -- shhh! We don’t want anyone to hear us down here!”

“Snow, do you seriously think someone else would be down here at 7:00 on a Monday evening? Does anyone else even  _ know _ about this place?” I ask sarcastically. “If you’re so worried about it, let’s begin searching around so we can get out of here. The sooner we find something, the sooner we leave.”

“But we don’t even know what we’re looking for,” whines Simon, “and there’s so many boxes down here!”

“See here, we know approximate years -- mid-90s, correct? Isn’t that when Bunce said Mage started his electric company?” 

“Yeah. But your mom died eight years ago, so we need to look in the mid-2000s, too.”

“Excellent point. I’ll take the 90s, you take the 2000s?” We find the boxes with the right years on them and begin rifling through them, not really knowing what it is we’re looking for exactly. Until…

“Snow! I’ve found the box with Mage’s co-op applications. And a...book?” I hold it up for him to see. He’s squinting in the dim light at me.

_ “Energy Democracy: Advancing Equity in Clean Energy Solutions’  _ Okay, yup, that totally sounds like a book he would read. What else?”

“Looks like some sort of schematics, blueprints or something...of the riverfront and the mills? Some blueprints for some solar fields, but I can’t tell where. Bunch of tax documents. Appears to be a long application. Too long to read down here. Have you found anything yet, Snow?” 

I begin to load my briefcase up with the files, then move to stand over Simon, wondering if I should help when he looks up at me. 

“You going to just stand there, or you gonna get your swanky ass down here to help me go through these boxes?” 

“Bossy,” I say, as I squat down next to him and start in on the next box. No way I’m putting my bottom on this floor. I can feel the frustration roiling off of him as he puts aside box after box, finding nothing. Suddenly, he stills, stiffens, and looks at me. 

“What is it, Snow?”

“Baz this is...really weird. It’s a…” he squints at it. I lean in over his shoulder to see what he’s reading more carefully.

“A record of birth? ‘June 21, 1995,’ ” I say, reading aloud. “It has Lucy Salisbury’s name on it. That’s old Salisbury’s granddaughter - not the Salisbury who runs everything now. But I think she would have been a teenager then.”

“Why would Mage have this? And why would it have... _ my _ birthday on it?” He shakes his head, his face genuinely puzzled. 

“ _ Your _ birthday, Snow?” I asked, as surprised as he is. I look over at him now; there’s a cobweb clinging to the curls swooping over his furrowed brow. Without thinking, I reach over and gently pick it out of his hair. He turns to me, his nose inches from mine. He looks into my eyes. “Er---you had a cobweb, Snow.”

“Oh,” he breaths. “Thanks.” He considers me another moment, then turns back to the puzzling document. “I think we need to grab this whole file. Maybe for the whole year. And this one,” he points to another box. “I think I saw something about Salisbury Electric in there, too.”

He begins gathering armfulls of files and shoves them messily into his satchel. I put my hand on his forearm to stop him. He looks down at my hand, then up at me. “We can’t take everything, Snow. Don’t you think we’ll look a bit suspicious walking through the hallways with smuggled cardboard boxes and files from the basement?”

He grins wickedly. “Not if we take the lift straight up to your floor. You are the mayor, after all.”

Who am I to argue with that?

SIMON

We haul the boxes and files upstairs, spread their contents across Baz’s desk, and together quickly scan the pages of the files we plucked from the storage room with our phones. I offer to bring the boxes back downstairs so Minos doesn’t think it’s strange that Baz is getting off the lift as it’s coming up instead of going down, then meet him at his flat to download and start reading some of the documents more carefully. I pick us up a couple of gyros along the way, hoping he’ll eat one (I’m sure he’ll complain about the tzatziki sauce). 

When Baz opens the door, my jaw drops to the ground. He’s wearing a purple Watford University hoodie. A hoodie! And…

“Baz! You’re wearing...sweatpants!” I exclaim.

“Did you expect me to sit around on my furniture in my sooty clothing all evening, Snow? Besides, these are not  _ sweatpants _ \- they’re cashmere joggers. I do own comfortable leisurewear, you know,” he smirks at me, then looks down at my hands, noticing the paper bag. “Oh good - you’ve brought dinner.” He takes the bag out of my hand and turns to walk away  without actually asking me to come inside. He throws his head over his shoulder, his hair whipping around his face. “Are you coming in or not?”

I stumble slightly as I step through his doorway, following him into the kitchen. He’s setting out plates and napkins and unloading our sandwiches when I notice  a tiny black smear of soot on the end of his nose. I should leave it there -- serves him right for looking like a supermodel most of the time (even in cashmere sweatpants, for fuck’s sake). Plus, it’s kinda cute to see Baz slightly out of order. I raise my hand towards his face, but he flinches back in alarm when he realizes how close I’ve gotten to him.

“What are you doing, Snow?” he asks, but it lacks his usual bite this time. 

I take a step closer; he inhales sharply, then I slowly wipe my finger across his nose. “There. You just had a…” I trail off. I let my fingertips trail down his cheek as I look up to his eyes. They are so beautiful; I’ve always thought so -- gray like the sea before a storm, like the sky before the heavens open up. Like something dangerous you know better than to stare at, but you just can’t help yourself. They’re roving over my face, asking me a question I’m not sure I have the answer to. I swallow hard, lick my lips, then...

I step back and avert my eyes, grabbing a plate and turning to walk out through the kitchen doorway. “Uhh--let’s go download my scans, yeah?” I swallow again. “It’s getting late so we’d better, um, better start looking through all this.”

Baz follows me out of the kitchen, but I realize then that I don’t actually know where his computer is, so I end up turning around and trailing him into a small office with an enormous silver computer monitor (some kind of Apple, no doubt). I email him the documents from my phone, and he sits down, gesturing for me to pull up another chair beside him. We balance our plates on our laps, taking bites from our sandwiches now and again (well - he takes bites; I’m practically inhaling mine) as we flip through screen after screen of digitized documents.

We begin with the co-op applications. There’s...a lot there, much of it I don’t even really understand. But Baz seems to be coming to some sort of recognition as we flip through the applications. “Snow,” he stills on one particular document, putting his plate up on the desk and leaning over closely towards his monitor. “Has Mage ever mentioned running any kind of nonprofit? Because it looks to me like he had started the 501(c)(3) application, but this document is a bank statement with only his name on it. With a lot of money in it, I might add.” 

I shrug. “Dunno. Davy’s worked as a consultant for tons of nonprofits. Never mentioned having one himself, though. Why?” I ask, polishing off my gyro. 

He shakes his head a little bit. “So, I’ve gathered that an electric co-op is a nonprofit company. No taxes paid to the government.  They are required to reinvest revenue into their service area communities through stable rates and infrastructure or return it to members through patronage capital to maintain their status. ”

Here we go again with the fancy words. I roll my eyes at him and put my empty plate down on the floor. “So what? Yes, that is  _ literally _ the point of a cooperative. To generate a product that is mutually beneficial to the member owners and the community it serves. You know, maybe if Salisbury - or you, for that matter - took that approach, the council wouldn’t be giving you such a hard time about funding the dam project. You had corporations and banks or whatever invest instead of local businesses.” 

“Yes, but they had the most capital. We never would have come up with enough money through courting local businesses to fund a hydroelectric dam, Snow. You’ve no idea about how much engineering, and restructuring, and --”

I’m gathering energy now - this, this right here, is our wheelhouse. I’m feeling myself getting lighter and giddier, like I did when we verbally sparred during university. 

I interrupt him. “Imagine, though. Instead of the largest electric company in the area creating energy and amassing what will likely be a massive profit and return on investment--”

He moves to stop me from speaking further, but I hold up my hand to him “--I know, I know -- Watford will benefit no matter where the money comes from, Baz, I get it -- the planet and our monthly utility bills will definitely thank you. Your plan isn’t bad. It’s really great, actually. But just imagine if, instead of using Salisbury, you had used some of the smaller green energy companies in and around Watford? And then consulted with the local fisheries and ecology organizations. They’re already way more advanced in their knowledge of how hydropower works  _ and _ know how to do the least damage to the river and waterfront in the process. And all of _ their _ return on investment? Gets directly reinvested in the community.”

Wow - that felt good. I lean back in my chair, a little breathless at my sudden outburst of words, and look over at Baz now for some sort of reaction. He swivels his chair around to face me, and I do the same, matching his posture. Our knees brush, electricity crackling between us. 

His face is illuminated by the blue glow of the monitor. He’s staring at me, his eyes dancing like flames, a smile playing on the edges of his mouth. “Simon,” he says, a little breathless himself. “How do you--”

He said my name. It’s all I needed to hear to confirm what I want. 

I lean over, clasping his face in my hands to pull him closer to me. I don’t stop moving until my lips reach his, meeting him in the middle. 

Fuck, this is good -- better than I remember. 

I wonder vaguely if it’s a good idea to kiss the mayor, but Baz is humming against me, his hands braced on my knees as he leans in closer. Our mouths part slightly, and our tongues begin to  tentatively invite the other to explore. My hand slips behind his neck, roping its way up into his silky hair. I’ve always wanted to know what this hair would feel like between my fingers. 

Turns out it’s pretty fucking good, too. 

BAZ

I’m kissing Simon Snow. 

I’m kissing Simon Snow and making tiny embarrassing noises into his mouth as he tugs on my hair. I tentatively move one hand up to his face, caressing his jaw with my thumb, while the other comes to rest on his strong thighs. He moans, smiling against my lips, and I tighten my grip on his leg. 

Turns out discussing the finer points of capital investments versus cooperative community reinvestment is quite a turn on for the both of us. 

This is so much surer than the last time, both of us now more experienced, more secure in ourselves. I think now I realize what I want; I think he realizes what he wants, too.

He wants me. And I’ve always wanted him - only him. 

I’m about to bring my hand to his glorious mop of bronze curls when his phone rings suddenly, blasting like an air raid siren.

You have  _ got  _ to be kidding me.  _ Again?! _

He springs away from me, breaking our kiss, panting breathlessly.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he says, pointing at me. He reaches into his pocket for his mobile. “It’s Penny.”

He swipes his screen and answers. I can hear her through the phone and she’s not even on speaker.

“SIMON! Where are you? You’ve got to come home  _ now _ !” she shouts. 

“Whoa, whoa, Pen, hold on. I’m at Baz’s. We were,” he looks at me and blushes, then looks down, “just reading through what we found in the storage room. Why, what did you find?”

“Then you both need to get over here. Tell Baz to download all the documents onto a thumb drive -  _ do not _ save them in the cloud. I think we’ve found our merger motivation.” 


	8. Disillusionment Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That awkward moment after your second first kiss, human-eating armchairs, and surprise letters that help our gang start to piece everything together. Why are ugly recliners so comfortable, anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! What a week! I'm just now emerging from the whiplash and insanity of this election season (even though it's not even really over!). I am grateful for the outcome, and hope you're all feeling pretty great, too! I feel like I can see the other end of this story more clearly now that the cloud of our own election season is winding down. 🇺🇸 ✌️❤️
> 
> Thanks as always to the story-perfecting quibbles of TheyIs for always making things just perfect.
> 
> [I guess this is my Tumblr](https://snowbaz-mama.tumblr.com/) even though I still don't really know what to do there except press the little heart button.

SIMON

I’ve not ever been good with words. Being raised in group homes, it was just easier to stay silent in case I said anything to accidentally make someone angry - or not feed me for the night. It was the one thing Baz was constantly on me about when we first met - how inarticulate I was. How I stuttered. I’ve grown out of my stutter, mostly. But words still have trouble forming for me a lot of the time, typically when I’m nervous.

And especially when I’m facing a gorgeous man who I’ve just kissed into oblivion. That is also the mayor of my city. And the political rival of my boss. 

Oh, fuck. This is...a lot all of a sudden. 

I push my chair away and stand up after hanging up with Penny and look over at Baz. He’s waiting for me to explain. Or waiting for me to come back and kiss him again. Or leave. I clear my throat, hoping to break the awkward silence.

“So,” I begin haltingly, running my hands through my hair. “That was Penny. She uh--I think she needs to show us something that she found. And she wants us to bring over the documents we dug up from the storage room, too. Sounds like it could be a big lead. Um, yeah. So we should probably...” I turn and gesture at the office door. 

He continues to stare at me, his gray eyes so piercing I need to look away. I have absolutely no idea what he’s thinking.

In one fluid motion, he rises from his chair and approaches me. I freeze - is he going to yell at me? Walk right past me? Hit me? Or--

He stops in front of me, right in my space, staring me down. For a minute I think I’m going to get an earful, but he just nods. “Alright, Simon. It sounds...serious. Shall we get ready to go?”

Why is he acting like this? Did he not want to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss him? Have I completely misread the situation? 

He starts to turn back to the computer, but I grab his hand and pull him back to me. “Hey, wait. I thought I told you not to go anywhere.” I try planting a crooked grin on my face so he knows I’m teasing, that I want this - him - but his eyes are questioning me in return. 

His expression changes slightly, from worried to bemused. “Why?” he teases back. “Do you want to lecture me about service cooperatives again?” 

“No. I want to kiss you again. Do you --” I swallow hard, then continue. “Do you want me to? Like, can I kiss you?”

He looks taken aback by this question, then his face melts back into a gentle smile. I’d say that’s a yes, but I want to hear it this time. “You may absolutely kiss me - but on one condition.”

I’m smiling like an idiot, but I really don’t care because Baz wants me to kiss him again. I start to reach for his face, cupping my hands against his sharp jaw. “Anything,” I whisper, as I lean in to plant a slow, heavy kiss into the crook of his neck. He shudders and bends his neck to the side to let me in, humming softly in approval, but pulls back suddenly, looking up. 

“Just promise me you’ll turn your phone on silent this time.”

I laugh, then lean in to finish what I started. 

_________________________ 

When we arrive at my flat, it’s already 11:00. Baz and I both need to go to work tomorrow - that’s absolutely non-negotiable. You do  _ not  _ take days off of work during election season. But I’m ready to hear what’s waiting for us on the other side of the door, no matter how long it takes.

We walk into the living room, untangling ourselves and schooling our faces before we come in, to find Penny sitting on the sofa, laptops, notebooks, and Flairs sprawled around her alongside empty take-out containers. She doesn’t make a move or even glance up at us as we enter the room. Baz and I take off our coats; I take them and sling them over the arm of one of the overstuffed chairs, then turn my attention back to the matter at hand. 

“So?” I ask, standing over Penny. 

She looks up at me questioningly. “Yes?”

“You made it sound like we’re on the verge of a national emergency when you called, Pen. We practically ran over here!”

“We took a car, Snow, don’t be melodramatic,” drawls Baz as he takes a seat in one of our recliners. He collapses back and fiddles with the handle, popping out the footrest and leaning back. He looks absolutely ridiculous and soft and I want to crawl into his lap. 

I wrestle my attention from Baz back to Penny. “Okay, fine, we took a car here. So, what did you find out?”

“I hope you’re ready. You two better have a seat.”

  
BAZ

I’m not really sure what I’m about to hear, but I’m bracing myself by relaxing in a most unnatural pose in this obscenely overstuffed and comfortable chair. Simon is sitting on the armrest, leaning slightly into me. I wish I could reach up and curl my arms around his waist, but I don’t know if I’m allowed to do that. 

I turn my attention back to Bunce and await what she has to tell us.

“As you know, I possess certain...skills...that can allow me to see into a company’s backlog of documentation and data as long as they have it stored. Any data system from 1993 on is accessible through my self-designed,” she clears her throat and adjusts her glasses, “program.” 

“Yeah, Pen, you hacked into Salisbury’s files; we get it,” says Simon.

“I didn’t say ‘hacked,’ Si. I’m not a  _ hacker _ ,” she huffs. “I'm a systems analyst and programs overrider.”

I just stare at her, then say, “Well, Bunce, that certainly sounds…”

“Slightly less illegal,” Simon chimes in.

“Alright, alright, get to the good part, Bunce. What have you dug up?” I ask. 

“So, old Salisbury apparently had a tendency to go after small companies that would have competed with him - companies like Merry Men Green Energy, for example. But I found loads of other small utility companies that Salisbury either bribed with a big payout to shut down - like, way more than the company was probably worth - or forced out of business by basically stealing whatever industry technologies they had or were developing and then threatening them with an intellectual property lawsuit.”

“That is -- highly unethical,” I say, pushing down the footrest and sitting up straight in the recliner now. “And how far does this practice extend? Are they doing this  _ now _ ?”

“Well...in a way, yes. But not as blatantly as they were in the 90s and early 2000s,” says Penny. “Now it’s more like,” she waves her hand around in the air, “promising kickbacks. Free power. Repairs to board members homes in exchange for dissolving the coops. Stuff like that flies under the radar of auditors.”

“So--they  _ are _ still doing it, then.” I say frowning.

“And how is this connected back to Davy’s coop?” Simon asks. 

“Ah, well...seems Mage and his Merry Men didn’t play so nice with Salisbury or go down quite so easily. I’ve found some...well, let’s just say,  _ compromising _ documentation about Salisbury’s interactions with Mage. Here.” Penny flips her laptop screen to show us a series of documents. We all huddle in closer to see the screen a bit better.

First, a letter from Salisbury Electric to Merry Men, very formally asking if they’d consider a partnership with them. Nothing improper there - I knew from my mother that this is often how discussions about mergers and acquisitions begin.

Next, a letter from Salisbury Electric to David Mage specifically, this one from Old Salisbury himself. Unusual, but still more or less making the same requests, even offering a partnership if they’d share some deed to land where they were planning on building a solar field. I remember seeing the blueprints for the solar field plan in Mage’s files.

The next series of communications gets a little more intense, finally verging on the threatening. We see the same bank statement Simon and I found from Mage’s files, followed by a note from Salisbury threatening to report Mage for…

“But wait...is that--does that mean he--” Simon is squinting at the series of documents in front of him, scratching his head. He looks up to me for some sign of reassurance. I swallow hard, not wanting to articulate out loud what we’re seeing for fear of breaking Simon. 

“Looks like he never transferred the account over to the coop once he was granted his  501(c)(3)  status,” Bunce shrugs, answering dumbly. 

I look meaningfully at Simon, then turn my attention back to Bunce. “So...what I’m hearing is Mage deliberately kept his account private to collect the tax exemptions for himself?”

“I mean, I’m no financial analyst, but yeah, essentially.”

Simon pauses thoughtfully, processing this new information. I look at him, worried. 

“Well, if he was capable of that, then he was capable of anything. Even  _ murder _ ?” asks Simon bitterly. 

“This is hardly proof he’s had anyone killed!” says Bunce. “Just that he played hardball to protect his company. And, you know, may have possibly been stealing from his coop board. It seems likely that this is what prompted the merger - to keep his dirty secrets safe.”

“Penny, we need to remember our focus here: finding out why Davy would have had Natasha Pitch killed. And we don’t have that yet, so we need to keep looking.” He looks over at me, and I nod encouragingly, signaling that I’m ready to keep reading through the rest of Salisbury and Mage’s documents. 

We spend another hour or so sifting through various financial documents, more infrastructure plans (even early plans for hydropower on the river). And then…

“Penny! Stop! Go back! Penny, we saw this in one of Mage’s files! Baz! Baz, go download the files we found and show Penny the birth certificate! Penny, look at the date!” We’re looking again at the record of birth, only this time there’s a hospital and a name on it. 

“It’s your birthday, Simon! Like - exact day and year and everything! And look! ‘Mother: Lucy Salisbury. Place of Birth: Hampshire-Dickinson County Hospital, Cold Lake.’” 

“Cold Lake? That’s at least 5 hours away from Watford. And it’s practically in the middle of nowhere. My father’s family has an estate there,” I offer. 

Simon snorts. “ ‘An estate.’ Does it have a room for the mounted heads of the game you kill when you’re hunting there, too?”

“Of course it has a game room, Snow. What kind of country estate wouldn’t have one? My point is,” I continue, ignoring his eye rolling, “Watford Medical Center is the best hospital around. Why would a Salisbury send his daughter to some country hospital in the middle of nowhere to have his grandchild?”

“Because maybe she wasn’t supposed to be having a baby. How old is Lucy Salisbury, Baz?” asks Bunce.

“She’s younger than my mother and Mage by several years. I don’t know much about her, honestly. She lives abroad now, I believe. I didn’t even know she had a child. I suppose she would have been a teenager in 1995.  _ Oh _ ,” I say, recognition dawning on me. “Of course!” 

“I take it this wouldn’t exactly have been a welcome addition to the Salisbury family?” asks Simon.

“It would be the sort of scandal Old Salisbury would never have lived down back in the mid-nineties, and  _ especially _ at the club. I don’t exactly think his teenage daughter having a child out of wedlock would have made the monthly newsletter. But I could always ask my father about it and see what he knows about her and this baby.”

“Um, Baz?” We all turn to look at Bunce, who is staring at her computer screen with her mouth open. “I think I found out where your mother became a part of all this.”

We all peer over at Bunce’s screen. On it is my mother’s slanted script - script I remember from birthday cards, care packages sent to me at boarding school, my full name (always) written in perfect sharp lines of black ink. And here it is now, on a letter written on her personal letterhead and addressed to both Mage and old Salisbury. It’s dated three weeks before her death. 

All eyes are on me. I start to read it aloud:

Dearest Salisbury and David,

It has come to my attention through multiple backchannels that there is an opportunity for both of you to merge your equity and form a single municipal utility company for Watford under the auspices of the mayor’s office. On behalf of Pitch M & A, allow me to make the decision to merge for you under more favorable arrangements than the antitrust lawsuits, felony charges, and the complete and utter social shame with which you will both be charged for your individual and familial misdeeds. 

I shall set up a meeting with Gareth, our mergers manager, for Monday morning to begin the proceedings. All business valuations and appropriate applications to dissolve each business in order to manifest the new municipal reorganization have been filed, as well as the purchase and sales agreement with my sales terms drawn up. 

I look forward to our continued partnership in this new opportunity.

Yours,

Natasha Pitch 

She knew about Mage and Salisbury. She knew _ everything _ . She knew everything and  she exploited this knowledge for her own financial and political profit.

Did she know she would pay for it with her life? 

I turn my head away from her words, stunned. I can feel Simon and Bunce’s stares boring into me like hot coals. My throat suddenly feels tight. I flail trying to get out of the chair (it feels suddenly like it’s trying to swallow me whole), nearly knocking Simon over the side as I grab for my coat and stumbling as I stand and head for the door. 

“Yes, well then. I--” I clear my throat, suddenly at a loss for words. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch. I think I’ll just...get going then. Good night.” Giving Simon and Bunce one last glance, I turn and walk briskly out of the room, through the door, down the stairs, out into the street. Maybe Simon and Bunce were calling after me, but everything sounds like it’s underwater. 

I get down the sidewalk and let the fresh air hit my face. I start walking quickly in the direction of the riverfront, eventually finding myself back on my own steps, up to my own doorway, somehow floating to my bed where I collapse, clinging to a pillow and sobbing violently -- completely alone. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But seriously though--why are recliners UGLY AS HELL but like, once you kick back in them you never want to get out?


	9. Comfort Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you or don't you run after your former frenemy/potential boyfriend, our mentors are shit, sexy cuddling, coffee contraptions, and not on the first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Happy Sunday! I hope you all are ready for some intense hurt/comfort, because our boys are about to wrestle with all sorts of feelings - but they'll do it together. Thank you so much for reading along!
> 
> Thank you to my beta TheyI, who one day should just quit what they're doing and edit everything everyone wrote, ever.

**SIMON**

After Baz leaves, Penny and I stare at each other, at a complete and total loss for words.

Well - this is certainly _not_ what we were expecting to come out of all this. 

I spring up, shove myself into my coat sleeves and start rushing out the door.

“Wait, Simon! Where are you going?” Penny sits up, alarmed.

“To get Baz. He shouldn’t be alone right now, Pen!”

“Don’t you think he’d rather process the fact that his mother was someone who committed extortion on his own?”

I pause at this question. Anyone else would have said yes, the elusive Mayor Grimm-Pitch does everything alone. And also, he _has_ no feelings - at least not ones he shows to the world. 

But I know Baz better than that. I see Baz, have seen him. And things are different now, aren’t they? For him. For us. (Is there an us? I think there’s an us.)

I know everything he’s feeling - the hot anger and shock of betrayal.

“No, I don’t, actually. I think -- ” I pause here, pulling a little at the curls that fall over my head. “I think he needs someone. Can we uhhh, finish this tomorrow? I think I’ve heard all the plot twists I can manage for one night.”

Penny looks at me softly now. I’m not sure she completely understands why I need to follow Baz, but she says, “Sure, Si. How about I look at some of Davy’s files and see if I can find any corroborating documents.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Pen.” 

I nod and turn to go when she says, “Oh, and Simon? See if you can talk Baz into letting me bring Shep in. He can follow up on some of the other leads we don’t have documentation for from Salisbury or Davy’s files.” I sigh in resignation, because I know she’s right. To confirm this, she continues, “You know he can, Simon. And maybe he can find the -- ” she pauses here mid-sentence, looking down into her lap. 

We both know, but neither of us wants to say it out loud -- the proof that Davy has done something illegal. That proves he had Natasha Pitch killed. That proves he’s not the person I thought I’d built my life around, either. 

_________________________ 

I reach Baz’s flat about a half-hour later and I realize I have no idea whether he’s even here. I don’t have the code to get into his building, so I hover over the intercom, deliberating whether or not it’s a good idea to buzz this late. I guess I could send him a text but I really want to get his attention right away if he’s actually inside. Before I can change my mind, I press and hold the button on the intercom for a few seconds that seem like an eternity; the buzzer clangs in the still, dark night.

And I wait. 

And wait. 

I think it’s probably only been about two minutes, but it may as well be morning. I told myself I’d only buzz once and then let him be. Just as I’m about to turn around to go, I hear his sonorous but groggy voice straining through the speaker.

“Snow? Is that you?” His voice snaps into the silence.

“Oh uhh, yeah. Hi. Yeah, it’s Simon. Sorry to bother you, Baz. I just erm…” I’m struggling to come up with a euphemism for _I thought you might need some comfort after just having found out your dead mother wasn’t exactly a saint_. I settle on, “I just wanted to uh, check. On you. And see if you wanted to talk about all that stuff. And uh, yeah.”

Didn’t exactly nail it there. I wince at myself, preparing to be told to kindly fuck off and go back home. I’m about to let him know I’ll just talk to him tomorrow when I hear his voice again floating out of the intercom.

“So, you’d like to come up, then?” he asks. God, for someone so brilliant he really is thick sometimes.

“Well, I chased you all the way here, so I’d say yeah, I would. If you’ll have me.”

A big pause with no response. Then, a buzz.

I practically sprint to the lift, slamming the buttons for his floor. When the doors part, I’m right at his front door. Before I can even knock he’s standing there and I don’t hesitate; I throw my arms at him, backing him into his living room. We find the sofa, fall back, and sink down still embracing. His face is buried in my neck, hands gripping my shoulders. I’m petting his silky black hair, his back, his slender waist. 

He looks and feels so...small.

I mean, he’s well over six feet. He’s got at least three inches on me. But he’s folded into me now, shrunken down. And I’ve seen him like this before. I know we both feel the echoes of that night we found out about his mother.

Is this worse? It actually feels worse. 

He pulls away from me slowly; his face is streaked with tears and he suddenly seems embarrassed by the torrent of emotions he’s just poured into me and moves to leave. I grab his hand, tugging him back down to the sofa cushions. Now that I’ve got him, I’m not letting him go anywhere. 

I hold his hands between us. He looks at me, and his face tells me he is utterly shattered. My heart breaks for him. For myself. For us. 

I reach up and tuck a strand of his loose hair behind his ear, then gently swipe my thumb over one of his tear-stained cheeks. “What a mess the both of us are, huh?” He coughs out a wet laugh, shaking his head.

“Look at me, Snow. I’m the mess here. I’ve utterly fucked up.”

I look at him in surprise. “You? How on earth have _you_ fucked up? You didn’t do anything wrong, Baz.”

He glares at me now, suddenly remembering his posture and his position. “Haven’t I, Snow? I went galloping into the mayor’s office trying to fulfill my mother’s legacy, thinking she was robbed of the opportunity and that it was my job to make it right. And what is her legacy? Lying, stealing to get what she wanted, exploiting her position to gain power.” He snorts (it’s still fucking elegant somehow). “Turns out your Mage was correct - you can’t trust a Pitch.”

Something prickles in me at the mention of Davy, coils through my body as I clench my fists and spring up from the cushions. “Oh, yeah, like _he’s_ a great judge of character!” I’m pulling at my hair in agitation, squaring my jaw and facing him. “Some mentor my boss turned out to be. Embezzlement and tax fraud? From his own fucking _nonprofit_ ? You have _got_ to be kidding me! How?! He calls himself a _progressive_ . He says what he does is for the _people_.” 

I’m beginning to get dizzy as the heat rises through me and I feel my breath start to race; I’m pacing back and forth until I feel Baz’s arms reach out to still me. 

“Breathe, Simon. It’s okay, I’ve got you. Shhhhh.” I don’t even realize that it’s my turn now to fall down. Except his arms are right there, and I didn’t even have to search them out.

**BAZ**

Listen to us -- squabbling over whose mentor is the least trustworthy. Who failed us the most. Whose heart is in the most disarray. 

I’m rubbing small circles into his back. He stills, breathing heavily, and pulls away. I scan his face; it looks like there are tears forming in his eyes. I think he’s going to start crying, but instead he looks down at our feet and shakes his head, a small laugh escaping on his breath. 

“I can’t believe this, Baz,” he says.

“Can’t believe what, Snow?”

He looks up at me, staring into my eyes, tugging at me once again with his weight and gravity. “That when I think I’ve finally got you to myself, our fucking life-long tragedies come roaring back to life to interrupt us again.”

I gaze right back and smirk. “Snow, it’s our life-long tragedies that draw us together. You don’t really think they’re going to stop existing just because we’ve somehow come to a truce?” 

“No - just wish they’d stop interrupting, though. And uh--I think we’re on more than a truce, yeah?” He looks down, picking at his cuticles nervously. “So, what do you want to do then?” 

He looks back at me with uncharacteristic shyness, a stark departure from his usual confidence and courage. How could he not know what I want? 

I realize now that of course he doesn’t. And that it’s entirely my fault. I think he’s been waiting patiently for me all these years at a respectful distance.

I dig deep down inside of me for even a drop of his courage to say what I need to say next and close the gap. 

“Simon,” I begin. I have to be the one to reach out first now. I finger the bronze curls flopping over his forehead, touch his brow, his wide cheekbones, his full lips. He trembles beneath me in anticipation. “I want…”

“Yes, Baz?” he breathes out, closing his eyes and leaning into my hand while my fingers tickle their way down his neck.

“I want to hold you, Simon. Please. Can we just...”

I’m cut off with a rough kiss. I deepen it, winding my hands around his waist and drawing his body closer. I back him up, nudging him down the hallway to the stairs that lead to my loft bedroom. We stumble up the spiral staircase until we reach the top, practically spilling out into the room. Simon suddenly stops kissing me and steps away, taking in the space.

“Holy shit, Baz. I didn’t even know this room was up here! This is like, the size of your whole fucking flat!” He’s looking around, taking the room in - the warm wooden ceiling beams we’re suddenly a lot closer to, the rough brick walls, the tall support columns that run from floor to ceiling. I’m suddenly grateful for my twice-weekly cleaning service that comes and swipes the dust off everything and changes my sheets. “But Baz, there’s no door!”

“Who else do you think comes over my flat, Simon?” I ask, moving to sit down on the edge of the bed. I’m suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious and begin to fiddle with my hoodie strings.

I feel the weight of him as he sits down next to me. He’s leaning now, pressing his side into me. 

“Hey.” He reaches over and pulls the strings from my hands, forcing me to look up at him.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry,” he says, so softly. He’s such a brute, but he’s being so gentle with me. And with himself - I don’t think either of us can take anymore roughness tonight. “So, uhh, d’you wanna…”

Leave it to Simon Snow to proposition me in my own bedroom. I scoot back into the bed and he follows me, crawling towards me in a way I’d call obscene if the mood were a little different right now. When he reaches me, he pushes me down onto my pillows and tugs at the edge of the duvet, motioning for me to get under. I obey quickly and he follows suit. 

I’m about to combust because Simon Snow’s head is on my pillows and under my blankets. We’re lying on our sides, face to face, clasped hands between us, my heart slamming against my chest. 

“I meant what I said earlier,” I whisper into the space between us.

“Hmm?? What’s that?” The vibrations from his lips zip down my spine; he’s so, so close to me.

“That I want to...Can we…?”

Before I even finish asking, he’s flipped himself over, pressing his back into me. He glances over his shoulder and reaches for my arm, draping it around his waist, tucking himself in even closer than before. It feels awkward, hugging him with his work clothes still on.

“Do you want to borrow some more comfortable clothes?” I ask tentatively.

“Nah,” he says, wriggling out of my grasp to sit up. He quickly unbuttons half his shirt, then whips it over his head, flinging it off the side of the bed. He’s wearing a snug t-shirt underneath that deliciously hugs his strong arms. He looks over at me. “Baz, do you mind if I, uhh…” He gestures downwards. I nod and he shimmies out of his khakis, discarding them with his shirt, then settles back down under the covers.

He’s facing me again this time, looking at me in the dim light. I stroke his bare arms and feel his muscles shiver and flex against my fingertips. I want to grab onto them as hard as I can, want their weight to pin me down, but I want to be the one to do this now. All that can wait.

I wrap my arms around his waist again; I’m so much closer to his skin now that I can feel the heat of it leeching off of his thin shirt, his boxers. He sighs and presses his face and lips forward. It’s a languid, gentle kiss this time, filled with promise. When we part, he scoots down, resting his head down on my chest.

We fall asleep, wrapped up in each other's limbs, heartbreak temporarily shelved to be filed in the morning light. 

**SIMON**

The sun is slowly floating over the horizon when my eyes flutter open. I’ve always risen with the sun, the first slivers of light waking me up. The lavender-tinged dimness of the early morning casts shadows all over the room. I look down and realize I’ve drooled all over Baz’s sweatshirt overnight. Ugh - almost as embarrassing as my morning breath. I try to lean back to extricate myself from his extra-long limbs without disturbing him. He stirs, issuing a brief snore (adorable), and flips over, spreading himself out on the mattress.

I smile as I quietly make my way downstairs to the kitchen. I know he loves coffee, so when I get there I’m expecting to see the coffeemaker on the counter. What I see instead are about five different brewing contraptions, none of which I really know how to use. I go for the one with a water reservoir, shove in an aluminum pod of some sort, stick a mug under it and hope for the best when I press on the button. It whirs to life and starts spitting out foamy coffee. I add some milk and sugar (I know he likes his coffee drinks sweet), quickly make a black coffee for myself, and tiptoe back up to his bedroom.

Standing at the top of the stairs, I take him all in. Long legs and arms reaching in all directions on the bed (of course he’s a bed hog), black hair spilled out over the crisp white pillows. 

He’s so beautiful even when he’s fallen apart, like a sprawled-out angel. 

I gently place his coffee down on his bedside table (of course he has a coaster there), then scoot back onto the bed, cradling my own mug in my hands. I lean back against the quilted headboard and just watch, and I wonder -- how long have I been watching him? 

He begins to stir, looking up at me. Worry flits across his face for a moment, until I smile and reach down to pat his head.

“Morning. I uhh, brought you a coffee. If you like. Made one for myself, too. Hope that’s okay.”

“Of course, Snow.” He squints his eyes shut hard and stretches his limbs out in every direction before scooting up to sit beside me. He goes to reach for the coffee next to him, but I lay a hand across his lap. 

“Wait a sec, Baz.” I jump up, running around to the other side of the bed, and grab the coffee from the table. I present it to him, and as he reaches out to grab it, I bend down to kiss his cheek. He stops me from standing up straight with a hand over my arm. He’s looking at me so softly, his face still blurred with sleep, that I want to dive back under the covers with him immediately. 

“Simon?”

“Yeah?” I croak out. 

“Just...thank you. This is...terribly kind of you.”

Jesus - like I’m doing him some kind of reluctant favor here. “Baz - I want to do this, you know. Bring you coffee. Kiss you good morning.” I sit on the side of the bed, my torso turned to him. He goes to take his first sip and the way his lips wrap around the edge of his mug is doing something to me, so I bend forward again but end up kissing his nose (the way he scrunches it up makes me smile). I crawl over him to my side of the bed and my coffee.

My side of the bed? Honestly, Simon. It was one night.

We sit in amiable silence, waking up under our warm mugs. The light from the sun is finally strong enough to spread across the bricks and timber of his room, glinting off the tall windows. There’s something I need to say to him, so I decide to just go for it.

“Hey Baz?”

“Yes, Simon?”

“I think I need to quit my job.” 

He looks over at me, but not with a look of surprise like I expected. He takes one of my hands in his and sighs. 

“I can’t let you do that, Simon.”

“And why not? Why would I want to continue working for a hypocrite? I’ve seen all the proof I need, Baz. Everything he’s done, he’s done it for his own fucking self and no one else, so yeah, I’m going to quit and he’s going to go down, and we’re going to be the ones to make it happen!” I finish.

I look over at Baz expecting him to rise in righteous indignation with me, but instead he’s slowly shaking his head and laughing.

“This isn’t funny, Baz! I’m serious!”

“I know you are. It’s just...how do I say this without sounding selfish. You are better use to us working closely with Mage than suddenly quitting and becoming his enemy. You know how he views people who leave his department - like traitors. You’ll never get access to him or his files or any information about him again.”

“We have Penny.”

“Yes, but if it weren’t for you overhearing what you did at his office door, we would have never discovered that there was anything untoward about Mage except his horrible policies and mayoral power grabs. And honestly, that’s just politics and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about that.” 

“Ugh--does all politics have to be so--the room where it happened?”

This earns me a chuckle. “Quoting _Hamilton_ now are we, Snow?”

“If the shoe fits, wear it,” I smirk.

“Oh my god, Snow, please stop!”

“Sorry,” I laugh, then become serious again when I look over at him. “What about you, Baz?”

“What about me?”

“You’re not going to resign as mayor, are you?”

“And let Mage win? Absolutely not. My own mother may not have been been fit for office, but I am. No, Snow. We are going to find out how all this is connected, we are going to alert the proper authorities once we have airtight proof, and we will have all legal recourse to substantiate our accusations.”

“We still don’t know if he really got your mom killed, though.”

“I know Simon. I know,” he sighs. I think it hurts him to admit that this is what we’re still looking for. 

“You know who can probably dig up more for us, Baz?”

He turns and glares, anticipating what I’m going to say.

“Shepard,” I say, at the same time he says, “No.”

“Just...hear me out. So, like, Shep is. Well Shep is, uh, unconventional. But this whole thing is pretty unconventional. And he’s actually really good at his job. Like, he has contacts in the weirdest fucking places, you have no idea.”

“Well, if his reporting is to be believed, then I do have somewhat of an idea,” says Baz. He sighs, brushing his fingers absentmindedly over my forearms. “Alright. You and Bunce trust him not to breathe a word to anyone?” 

“Of course. We’d never suggest working with him if we didn’t,” I try to reassure him. He nods slowly. I smile. “This is good, Baz. I think he’s going to help us link this all together, you know?”

“Hmmmm,” he nods, but I know his mind has already drifted somewhere else. His grey eyes are storming again; he’s thinking hard, some difficult idea churning around in there somewhere. I elbow him to get his attention back.

“Hey,” I say. “What are you thinking about?”

“That I need to cancel the special council meeting and fire Salisbury from the dam job,” he says without a hint of hesitation. “I don’t think I can, in good conscience, partner Watford with a morally dubious corporation. I can’t condone the Salisbury’s actions by letting them profit off of our city’s natural resources.” I sit up a little straighter, a huge grin splitting apart my face. “And, perhaps, opening a hydroelectric coop may be more beneficial to the whole community.”

“Yes!” I slam my hand down into the mattress. “Baz, that’s brilliant! See, this is what I mean - using your power for the good of everyone!” I get so excited that I end up practically jumping into his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck, and kissing him into the headboard. He’s strong but pliant under my lips, under my legs. I pull back before it’s too late to stop myself from going any farther and clear my throat.

“I can help, you know. And Agatha - I know she’s already helped you secure some grants, but she can get you the connections at Fisheries and Wildlife and other smaller power companies who are already using hydro and solar power and feeding the grid in surrounding communities.” 

“I know she can - she’s very capable and connected.”

“But…?”

“How on earth am I going to explain this to Dev and Niall?”

I tip my head back and laugh like a maniac. “Oh my god, Baz. Why would they care? They’re too busy shoving their hands down each other’s pants to notice anything.” He arches his eyebrow at me in shock. “Oh, please, like you haven’t noticed the way they flirt with each other? Plus, isn’t Dev related to you?”

“Unfortunately - cousin.”

“See, you can piss off your family but you can’t get rid of them. It’ll be fine. He’ll look at it as a new financial puzzle to solve. Just don’t tell him any of it was my idea, okay? I think he wanted to throw me out the window last week when I came up to your floor.”

“Yes - and he likely would have tried defenestration if I hadn’t rescued you,” he smirks, then glances at the digital clock on his side table. “We’ve got to get to work, Snow. Up, up. Shower?” 

He’s already gliding down the stairs before I register what he’s just asked me. I scramble out of the bed, chasing him down the stairs. He reaches into a closet in the hall and pulls out two massive fluffy towels and then hands me one.

“Be my guest,” he gestures to the bathroom. My face falls immediately, and he starts laughing. “I never shower with someone after the first date, Snow.”

“Wasn’t the first. And it wasn’t a date.” I close in on him, pushing him against the wall and pressing my body into him. He gasps as I bracket his head with my hands and lean in, whispering in his ear, “You’ll know when I take you on a date, Mayor Grimm-Pitch. Because I will properly fucking wine and dine you. And you will wear some fancy fucking designer shirt that drives me wild and I will hold your goddamn hand walking down the sidewalk and we will end up back here again and then. _Then_ it will be a date. And then we can shower.” 

I leave a quick peck on his lips, but I’ve left him breathless.

I close the bathroom door behind me with a happy sigh. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of notes about Baz and his coffee: I need to clarify that Baz would never in a million years use a Keurig, so his coffee maker is a Nespresso. Absolutely every part of a Nespresso pod is recyclable and the coffee is far superior. Also, I just have it in my head canon that Baz uses those fancy pour-over into a paper filter and glass carafe type thingies that require expensive grounds and a lot of patience to brew, whereas Simon probably uses instant coffee.


	10. Fight Club Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz checks his privilege, Dev accepts a challenge, Niall knows things, and Shepard is just a tad big too eager to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Wow! Lookie here -- another chapter. Can you believe I slipped and fell in the shower and got a concussion? Yup, I sure did. I've been out of commission for a few weeks, so this chapter took me for-ev-er to write, but here it is! Please, Santa, all I want for Christmas is this fic to be finished before 2021!
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me, if you're still reading. I promise to update more quickly now that my noggin is back in relatively good shape!
> 
> As always, TheyIs is the lifesaving beta reader who breathed new enthusiasm into this chapter by merely existing. Thanks again for the unwavering support!

BAZ

I honestly can’t decide how I’m feeling this morning. The bags under my eyes (nothing a little concealer can’t fix) are worth it, though. Last night may have been filled with traumatic revelations, but it was also so, so wonderful.

Such is life with Simon Snow, I suppose. 

He left soon after his shower when it occurred to him he couldn’t show up to work in the same clothes he left wearing yesterday. And after realizing he’d never fit into any of mine. 

We kissed at my front door, like a married couple leaving for our jobs, travel thermoses full of hot coffee for our commute in hand.

We were always better working together. 

We  _ are _ better together - full stop. 

I sigh all the way up the lift thinking about everything that happened, feeling like I’m stuck in some unscalable valley between elation and despair. I step out into the foyer when the lift stops only to see Dev sitting on Niall’s desk. Again. 

Wait. Oh my god - Simon was right about them. I can’t believe I hadn’t ever noticed. 

“Good morning gentlemen,” I say as smoothly as I can, hoping my voice doesn’t betray my lack of sleep. I don’t think I can tell them anything about Mage and Salisbury and my mother until we have all of our proof together. I can’t risk it leaking out of the mayor’s office before we’re ready to pull the trigger.

“Baz,” Dev chimes back. “You look -- cheerful, yet mopey at the same time.”

“Yes, just my usual Tuesday look. Tell me, do you have time in your schedule later to talk about the dam budget?”

“Of course. Last-minute fight training?”

“Mmmm, something like that,” I say. I don’t want to say anything before I’ve really thought out how I’m going to break the news about Salisbury’s partnership. Fiona is going to kill me when she finds out about the change of plans. I know she’ll say it’s bad for the campaign. 

Oh, Fiona. How on earth  _ am _ I going to break all this to her? 

I think of my own heart, re-shattered by these revelations. But I’m a politician - I know how to play the long game. Fiona is a campaign manager. She’s trained herself to organize, strategize, and strike out quickly when presented with valuable information. She won’t wait for proper evidence before going public with the allegations against Mage because I already know she’ll believe it will hand us the win in the election.

And naturally, she’ll want to do it to avenge her sister’s death. 

But I don’t want to do this for a stupid win. And even though I owe it to my mother to find out how she really died, I’m not doing it for her either. No - I’m doing it for myself. For Simon. For Watford. 

The day is spent in and out of conference calls and meetings. Niall floats around me with the occasional message or notification of a new or upcoming meeting on the calendar. Dev is holed up in his office probably obsessing over the dam budget (even though he needs to be working on the mill renovation projects right now). 

I carve out some time this morning for my own research on setting up and running electric coops . I even Google the author of the book we found in Mage’s files. Turns out, municipal and locally owned utility companies end up generating nearly 33% more revenue than investor-owned utility companies. 

I feel utterly duped. And I can’t understand why nobody ever taught me this. Maybe I shouldn’t have dismissed everything Mage said when he was my professor during university after all. 

Later in the afternoon, I decide now is the time to talk to Dev, so I walk across the foyer into his office, where he’s hovering over one of his binders with a highlighter, dark brows furrowed deep in thought.

He pauses mid-highlighter trail and looks up. “That shirt is ridiculous, Baz. For the love of all that is holy, will you please just wear, like, a regular old suit and tie to the vote on Thursday?”

I look down and fuss with the buttons on my shirt, a Gucci ready-to-wear 2020 button up with aqua blooms and coral hydrangeas. I know he’s just being a dick because he’s stressed. “What -- it’s just a shirt. I don’t think my clothing choices are going to suddenly make our budget fail to pass.”

“You never know, darling cousin. You on your way out?”

“I was about to take a walk and a coffee break, yes, but I need to run something by you first about the dam budget.” I clear my throat and sit down opposite his desk, crossing my legs and folding my hands in my lap. “And the entire project.”

He puts his highlighter down and he folds his hands in front of him slowly, mirroring me and looking me square in the face. “Why do I have the feeling that you’re about to throw me over the edge, Basilton?” he says, his voice low. He knows me a bit too well - the downside of working so closely with one’s relatives.

“Look, Dev. You’re a financial wizard, are you not?” He opens his mouth to answer when I interrupt him. “Wait - don’t answer that question. I don’t want it going to your head. I’ve been doing some thinking about the financing of our project.”

“Our spreadsheets and projections are perfect, Baz.”

“Oh, I am well aware. You and Salisbury and Agatha -- you made it happen. It’s as much your project as mine.”

“So, I’m not quite seeing the problem here yet.”

“I’m getting there. Dev, did you ever stop to think about our childhood? How…” I wave my hand around looking for another word, but I can only think of one, “...privileged we were? To grow up around so much money? To know and be connected to people who had so much wealth and power?” 

He blinks at me stupidly for a second, then sits back in his chair. “No, I hadn’t really. It was just how we were raised, wasn’t it? The Grimms. The Pitches. The Salisburys. The Wellbeloves. The club. It’s all just a part of the fabric of our lives. It’s just--normal.”

“Yes, Dev, normal to  _ our  _ lives. But our lives are not like most of those who live in Watford. We’re actually  _ not _ normal.”

Dev sighs. “Is this about Mage? Are you trying to court his progressive constituency or what?”

“No,” I shake my head hard. “No. Listen to me - I do not see any earthly reason why we should continue to pour profits into the hands of families like the Salisburys. Not when we could actually achieve  _ better  _ results for Watford if we went coop or municipal electric.” 

“COOP? A MUNICIPAL POWER COMPANY? Baz!” Dev jumps out of his chair and begins pacing behind his desk. He runs his hand through his dark hair, then turns to me, leaning over his desk into my space. “Baz, you know my stance on this. Coops and municipal power companies are consistently underinvested, they have to share pricing with the competition --”

“Which means,” I interrupt, “that it  levels the playing field between competitors, no matter how big or small they are.”

“I thought you wanted to make money for Watford,” says Dev shaking his head.

“No, Dev - this project is supposed to  _ save _ money for Watford. And any profit we make should be invested directly back into the same infrastructure to make it more efficient, more cost-effective, and provide lower rates. We can’t do that if Salisbury is running the project and I know you know it because you’re the one who did the projections.”

Dev laughs, then sighs and sinks back into his desk chair. “Baz, I never thought I’d see the day.” 

“And what day is that?”

“The day you sound like David Mage.” He leans forward, forearms on the desk. “Okay. I’m intrigued. Let me make some phone calls before we call Salisbury, though, okay?”

“Ah ha! I knew you’d love a challenge. And, I don’t want it to be just us this time. I want a whole committee working together on this go-around - energy, commerce, finance, environmental protection...” I pause. “But start with Agatha, would you? You know she’s brilliant with this stuff.” 

“Yes, yes, and so am I. So -- are you going to call Mage about the council meeting or should I? He’ll be all too thrilled to learn he’s gotten to you, you know.”

“He hasn’t gotten anywhere near me, Dev. He’d flatter himself to think so.”

“So, why the change of heart, then? Never heard you too fussed over our privilege” -- the asshole is using air quotes -- “before. Something must have changed your mind.”

I move to stand up. “Well, let’s just say that there have been some...revelations about some poor behavior on many people’s part that I don’t want representing Watford. I’ll just have to leave it at that for now.”

He nods, then tosses his budget binder aside. “Guess I won’t be needing that. Now scram - I’ve gotta get to work if you want some kind of proposal to replace this one by the end of the week.” He cracks his knuckles then opens his laptop and work mobile.

I turn in the doorway. “Oh, and Dev? Don’t stay too late, would you? I’m sure Niall will be waiting,”  I smirk. Dev blushes furiously, clears his throat, and looks at his screens. 

_______________________

When I return to my office, I have two missed calls from Simon. I smile as I check my texts and see a series of progressively eager messages:

**Snow:** Hey! How’s your day going?

**Snow:** I talked to Shep. Is it okay if we come up later? 

**Snow:** What time works?

**Snow:** Okay, Shep is on his way over after he gets done with something he’s working on. 

**Snow:** So, don’t know if you’re in a meeting or what, but Shep’s actually here. 

**Snow:** Can we come up? 

The last text is time stamped just 15 minutes ago. I glance at my watch, and quickly reply back to Simon:

**_Me:_ ** _ I just broke the news to Dev. Challenge accepted. Come up when you’re ready. _

So much for my coffee break. 

“Niall,” I call out from the doorway, “Simon Snow and his acquaintance Shepard are on their way up. Let them right into my office once they arrive, would you?”

He draws his head back, eyes opened wide. “Ummm,  _ why _ ?”

God, Niall can be so damned sassy sometimes. It figures he’s attracted to Dev. “We’re doing an interview for Shepard’s paper. About my campaign.”

Niall points to the computer. “It’s not on your calendar. And isn’t that one a bit…” he stretches out his hands and wiggles his fingers, “out there? Are we sure this is the look we’re going for in the campaign?” He looks genuinely concerned.

“Mage’s followers love _ Phoenix Rising _ , Niall. You know a certain slice of the population just won’t listen to what I have to offer them otherwise.”

He gives me some intense side-eye, then just hmmphs in disapproval, spinning away from me to face his computer again. “M’kay then. I’ll send him and Snow…” at this he pauses, looking back at me knowingly as I blush furiously, “...right in.” 

He somehow always knows what’s going on - the administrative assistant’s instinct is fierce in him.

I have to remember to tease him about Dev later to get him back. 

**SIMON**

I make sure to head to The Black Goat before running up to the mayor’s office with Shepard to bring Baz the stupid pumpkin drink he likes -- a properly made one, this time. I don’t want to mess it up again.

I just really don’t want to mess up with Baz - like, ever again. 

I hear a quick knock and turn to see Shepard standing in the doorway of my office.

“My dude!” he exclaims, striding right in and embracing me in a massive hug. “It’s been a minute, huh? I’m so glad you called me. I was working with these falconers who summon endangered osprey on the West River when you called, but honestly, they’re going to be there, like, all day. They stand for hours waiting for the birds to come so they can lure them to these platforms they build for them up in the pines.”

“Oh ah, well, that’s really interes---” 

“Did you know,” he continues, “that  ospreys can dive for fish from around 100 feet – three times higher than an Olympic diving board?”

“I...did not. So, hey, what did you--”

“And these people are so ingenious! Did you know that companies actually hire them and their birds to keep away seagulls and pigeons and stuff from their dumpsters? It’s way more humane than just like, shooting or poisoning the invasive birds, ya know?” 

“Oh yeah?” I finally force my way into this run-on sentence. If there’s one thing I remember about hanging out with Shepard, it’s that brevity is not his strong suit. “That’s really cool! I mean, environmentally-friendly pest control - yay! But Baz, uh, Mayor Grimm-Pitch, is expecting us, so…”

Shepard jumps up. “Yes! I can’t believe I’m getting to go into the mayor’s office!” He’s practically squealing.

It’s kind of adorable, really. I can see why Penny has a sorta-crush on him.

Not that she’d ever admit it.

We make our way to the lifts. Once we’re in, I turn to him and say, “Now, remember, if anyone else asks, we’re here for an interview - not to talk about his mom being possibly murdered by my boss. That’s like, pretty top secret right now, okay?”

Shepard bounces on his toes a bit, looking at me with a wild grin on his face, his eyebrows wiggling up and down behind his round wire-rim glasses. “Oh, yeah. I know. Trust me -- I’m an expert at keeping up with a cover story.”

I decide not to ask any more questions. We miraculously ride in silence the rest of the way up. The lift slows, then dings. My heart is kind of yammering in my chest. This will be the first time I’m seeing Baz outside his flat since last night. 

I wonder if it will be weird. 

Niall is at his usual spot behind the desk in the main foyer, clicking away on his keyboard. He freezes, spins in his chair to face us, and rests his fists on his chin, leaning forward a bit. “Oh, hello there, boys. Come for more binders, Simon?”

“Uhhh, not this time, Niall.” I know he knows why we’re here; he’s just making us feel out of place on purpose, the bastard. “But hey, this is Shepard. He writes for the  _ Phoenix Rising _ and he’s here to do an interview with the mayor.” 

“So why are  _ you _ here then?” Niall points at me knowingly.

“Oh, well, uhhh…” I run my hands through my hair, rummaging through my mind for a plausible excuse this time when Shepard rescues me.

“Hey, I’m Shepard. I’m good friends with Simon and his roommate Penny, actually. He’s the one who got me the interview, so I just invited him along!”

“Mmm hmm,” says Niall.

“Did you know Simon and the mayor went to university together?”

“Yes, I did. Didn’t you?”

“Not until recently! And that’s like, the whole angle! University rivals turned political rivals. You know -- that whole thing. People love that.”

I’m staring very intently at my shoes, waiting for this to be over, when I hear someone clearing their throat. I look up with a rush of relief at Baz waiting in the doorway, watching this ridiculous scene unfold. (Again! Why do I always seem to be on the receiving end of these moments? Honestly…)

“Snow,” he says coolly. God, his voice is so...hmph. I blush furiously as he looks me up and down. “Back up here so soon?”

“Hey. I mean, yeah. We’re here for the…”

“Interview! Yes!” My mouth hangs open as I watch Shep sprinting over to Baz. “Mayor Grimm-Pitch! It’s so good to meet you in person, your honor. Do people really call you your honor? I’m Shepard. From the  _ Phoenix Rising _ . We write stories investi--”

“I know who you are, Shepard. Lovely to make your acquaintance as well,” says Baz, reaching his hand out. Shepard enthusiastically pumps it up and down as Baz tries to slither out of his grasp. “Alright then,” he says, patting Shepard’s clasped hands with his free one as he slides away, the move of a seasoned politician. “Shall we?”

Gotta hand it to him - he’s smooth as hell considering -- well. Considering. 

He leads us into his office, gesturing for us to both sit across from his desk. I place the coffee on the desk - I had nearly forgotten about it until that moment. “Oh uhh, here you go. I brought you a pumpkin mocha breve. From The Black Goat. I promise I didn’t mess around in a chain coffee shop this time.”

He raises an eyebrow at me, his face softening for a moment. “Thank you, Snow. That was unnecessary. But very kind.”

“I like bringing you coffee.” I finally get my shit together enough to stare him down a bit. I manage to make him blush a tinge; only I would have noticed it. I sit back, satisfied with myself for flustering him for .2 seconds. 

He raises his eyebrows to the door, and I take the cue, quickly getting up to close it behind us. 

“Sooooo….,” starts Shep, “I’m here for all of this. Where do we start?” 

Baz shoots me a look of death. I try my best pleading look, willing my brain to tell him to just hear him out.

Shep flashes us a brilliant smile. “Look guys -- I make it my business to know everything. About everyone. And I’ve already got some great ideas for helping you find your mom’s killer.”

Jesus, he’s blunt. 

“Ahh---Shepard. I truly appreciate your enthusiasm. But we’ll also need a reassurance of your discretion,” Baz says. “I know your connections spread far and wide, but Simon and I,” he glances at me. I nod to encourage him to continue, “we just want to find out with certainty whether Mage’s involvement went any farther than his bad business behavior.”

“Totally. Yup. Yeah, so, I know a guy. Used to be a hitman. Still connected to the network. He’s completely legit, super chill. He definitely won’t blab. I’m gonna meet with him tonight, actually.”

“You--know a--a hitman?” I stutter out. I look at Baz. His face is not giving anything away, but there’s no doubt in my mind he’s as freaked out as I am. 

“ _ Former _ hitman. And yeah. Nice dude. No big deal. And I’ll try to look a little deeper into that weird birth certificate thing. Don’t know if it’ll be connected to Mrs. Pitch’s death, but you never know. Leave no lead unturned, my dudes, you know?”

“Well, I think this is a...promising start. Right, Simon?” Baz gives Shepard and I a tight-lipped smile.

“Oh uhh--yeah. Yes! Do you want me to come with you to, ummm…?”

“White Chapel?” Shepard finishes. 

“White Chapel? The fight club?” Baz asks, alarmed. 

‘Yeah, he hangs out there. My contact, I mean. Does business with the club now. Beating people up for money instead of killing them. Way more legal.”

I think we need to stop asking questions before Baz blows his lid, so I move quickly, standing up and gesturing to the door. 

“That sounds so great, Shep. Why don’t you text Penny after you’re done talking to the, uh, contact, yeah?”

Thankfully Shepard gets the hint and rises to leave. “Definitely. And oh!” He snaps his fingers.  “Before I forget and ask Penny for them -- have y’all looked over the accident report yet?”

“Accident report?” I ask.

“Yeah, the police report. From your mom’s accident. There’s usually a list of witnesses they would have interviewed on the scene. May be some good leads there if anyone saw anything kinda strange happen before or after the crash.”

Baz looks taken aback; we had definitely not thought to look, and his face tells me he’s never read the report on his own either. He stands quickly, running a slightly shaking hand through his hair, then composing himself immediately. “Shepard, thank you for the wise suggestion. I will take care of that myself.” 

“Righteous. So! My dudes! I’ll call you later, alrighty? Let you know what I find out tonight.” He backs towards the doorway, pointing at each of us back and forth as he goes. I open the door for him, waving goodbye.

“Hey uh, thanks again Shep. We’ll catch up later, yeah?” I clap him on his shoulder. 

I may have pushed him out the door a tad bit more forcefully than I meant to. 

Who am I kidding; I meant to.

I close the door, then turn to Baz. “Hey.”

“Snow.” He’s still behind his desk, arms folded across the chest of his wildly ridiculous shirt. That I got to watch him put on this morning. 

“So,” I begin. “That wasn’t too bad--was it?”

He cocks an eyebrow at me. “Seriously, Snow? We have put our trust in a man who is on a first-name basis with people who have murdered other people. On purpose.”

I approach him slowly, but he’s still guarding himself with his arms crossed. I move behind his desk until I’m close enough to touch him. I tug at his forearms until he releases them,  wrapping my arms around his waist and kissing his cheek .

“It’s going to be fine,” I breathe into his ear. He hums in approval, finally returning my embrace, putting his chin into the crook of my neck. I take advantage of him being temporarily shorter to run my hands through his hair. “Besides, isn’t that who we’re looking for? Someone who murdered someone on purpose?”

He sighs, but it isn’t a contended one - not like the ones I heard last night or this morning. This sound is different. It means the man is  _ tired _ . Running a city, confronting your mother’s shady past, campaigning -- I honestly don’t know how he does it all and still manages to look and sound so put together all the time.

But I get to hear his weariness. I get to meet him at home with a warm meal and a hug (he gave me his building and door codes before we left for work this morning and told me to come to his flat when I leave the office tonight - I feel like I got the winning combination on a lottery ticket). The mayor and the man can be two very different people.

And, at least for now, I get both of them to myself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know I've thoroughly researched every stitch of clothing that Baz wears in this entire story? It's so fun imagining what a rich twit like Baz would wear.[Here's the one](https://www.prada.com/us/en/men/ready_to_wear/fall_winter_2020/products.cotton_poplin_shirt.UCN314_1XVK_F0011_S_202.html) he wore down to the storage room with Simon. And [here's the one](https://www.gucci.com/us/en/pr/men/ready-to-wear-for-men/shirts-for-men/sports-shirts-for-men/gucci-liberty-floral-cotton-shirt-p-636447ZAFKU4101) from this chapter. Can't you just picture it, tucked into a nice pair of trim black wool trousers? 
> 
> If there is a job out there to style fictional characters, please sign me up.


	11. Boyfriend Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sassy personal assistants, happy boyfriends, secret keepers, and life-changing revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for reading and staying on this long, long road with me. I've been distracting myself with Snowbaz Christmas fluff and Hallmark movies. Something I can really appreciate about a Hallmark Christmas movie? The speedy exposition and plotting, something which I clearly fail at. I would never cut it as one of their script writers.
> 
> Thanks as always to TheyIs, who, I'm fairly certain, knows this version of these characters better than I do at this point, because they always makes them act and sound better than I can. 
> 
> If I don't update before the holidays, may you enjoy and find peace and happiness with your loved ones - even if it's from a distance.

**BAZ**

“Niall,” I stick my head out my office door, “would you mind stepping in here a moment please?”

“So. Your interview was pretty...short,” he smirks at me.

“Ah. Yes. Well, turns out you were right. Perhaps Shepard is not quite the right person to write about me from the angle I was hoping for.” He looks pretty satisfied with himself, but I ignore him and continue. “But I wanted to ask you a personal favor. Do you think you could go down to the police commissioner’s office and quietly get a copy of my mother’s accident report?”

He looks at me wide-eyed and whispers, “Are you in trouble? Does this have something to do with Simon Snow?” I shake my head but he continues, louder this time. “I’m sorry, but his sudden interest in you, Shepard coming into your office, now this! For god’s sake! What is going on, Baz?”

I inhale, measuring out my next breath and my next words. 

“Niall, when I hired you for my personal assistant, you knew you’d be keeping me in line with my meetings, guarding my office door, and sending out messages for me. But I consider you a friend -- a good one. And I really want to tell you, but…” I pause, looking down and shaking my head. My lips are trembling as I look back up and meet his hazel eyes, now filled with concern. “I trust you. Completely. But for now, you have to get this for me. I promise I will tell you what you need to know. I need to be sure of some things before I can ask for your help.”

He reaches out for one of my hands, giving it a caring squeeze. “Just promise me you’ll be safe, okay? Whatever this is about, I’m here. So is Dev. If this is about your mom, or the campaign...you don’t have to do this alone.”

“Thank you. Please trust me. I can’t get you involved right now, Niall. I just need you to do this one favor for me.”

“Sure, Baz. You’ll have it in a couple of hours. All I have to do is flirt with Rhys and I get what I want.” 

“Is there some secret dating pool of administrative assistants in this building that I’m unaware of?” Rhys is Commissioner Possibelf’s personal assistant. 

“I’ll never tell.” He winks at me on the way out. 

Bless this sassy, lovely man I get to call my personal assistant.

________________________

Two hours later, as promised, Niall drops the report down on my desk on his way out for the evening. It lands on my desk blotter softly, more like a feather than the bag of stones I’d have expected.

But maybe that’s just what I’m feeling in my stomach. 

Father has never shared this report with me. I was in no shape to even think of asking to read it right after she died, and the thought had honestly never occurred to me until Shepard mentioned it. 

Am I ready to read about the crash? The flames? Here lie the final seconds of my mother’s life, shoved into tiny form boxes in someone’s hurried, cramped handwriting, copied in black and white. 

I take a deep breath and open to the first page. 

The details here are mostly what I already knew: the date, the time, the location, the make and model of my mother’s car. (‘88 Jaguar XJS. Black. Hardtop. Oh, how she adored that car.) There, my mother’s full name listed as the driver of the vehicle, Natasha Tahirah Pitch, the box next to her checked off, marking her “deceased at scene.” 

The next page is a description of the accident, followed by a blueprint-like map of the tunnel, small cars drawn over the roadway like tiny matchbox vehicles. 

But then I notice something odd on the blueprint - another car, spun out and facing the wrong direction of the tunnel in the next lane. I search back through the description of the accident, and that’s when I see it.

“Vehicle 2, traveling southbound, spun out, knocking vehicle 1 into the sidewall, causing crash and subsequent fire,” reads the description. Except next to the second car, there is no one listed as the driver. I read on: “No driver found at scene. Vehicle unregistered.”

I freeze. I don’t think I had even realized there was another car involved. All the news stories and press releases about the accident said that my mother lost control and crashed into the wall of the tunnel - she loved speeding down the West River Tunnel, especially at night when she could treat it as her own personal drag strip. (My father never liked being a passenger in my mother’s cars - always says she missed her calling as a Formula One driver.) None of the local news clips showed the tunnel with two cars in it - only my mother’s. This is something different, and it jars me to find out that the crash wasn’t what I imagined it to be. 

I scan down through the pages, looking for any witness interviews. Surely the driver had to have gone somewhere - who walks away from a crash like that? But no, my eyes see nothing - no witnesses, no interviews, and no follow-up as far as I can see. The witness page is blank. It just feels---wrong. Intentionally incomplete.

Something is missing here. 

I quickly text Shepard, Penny, and Simon:

**_Me:_** _Wondering if it were possible to look elsewhere for any follow-up on my mother’s accident report. The witness interviews seem deliberately excluded._

I get a text back from Shepard in record time.

**Shepard:** We’re on it, my dude. 

Two minutes later, Shepard has named the group chat “Mystery Inc.” 

**Bunce:** Shepard, honestly

**Shepard:** I call Shaggy. Baz is definitely Freddie!!!!! 

**Bunce:** Fine - I’m Velma

**Simon:** Wait, that leaves me as either Daphne or Scooby

**Bunce:** Daphne’s useless -- she’s always getting kidnapped and held hostage. Pick Scooby.

**_Me:_** _I concur. You and Scooby Doo have the same appetite; choose the Great Dane._

**Simon:** You all suck! 

I laugh out loud, because despite all of the stress, the misery, the intensity, this strange group of people have all rallied around me and held me -- against all odds.

My phone buzzes again. It’s Simon:

**Simon:** When are you coming home? It’s getting late!

I smile and write back:

**_Me:_ ** _ Miss me?  _

**Simon:** Obviously. Get your fine ass back here.

**_Me:_ ** _ I had a couple of things to take care of, as you saw. Dinner? _

**Simon:** Got it already. Just get here will you?

I’m up and out of my office in five minutes.

I look down at my watch - it’s only 7:00. 

**SIMON**

I want to say that it feels wrong to be at Baz’s place without him, but it’s a nice fucking space and I can’t say I’m not enjoying this freedom. The tall ceilings, warm walls, and throw pillows everywhere mean it’s way more comfortable and roomy than mine and Penny’s flat. There’s so much room to move around I can practically run laps. 

I kind of may have packed a bag with a set of cozy clothes for tonight (and a clean work outfit for tomorrow), so I’ve already changed into my joggers and a cotton henley, put dinner in the oven to warm up (I hope Baz likes brick oven pizza), and found the stereo, which of course is hardwired to high end speakers in the wall. I connect my phone to the bluetooth and hit play on “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes” by Crosby, Stills, and Nash. The music floats to the ceiling like a fucking cathedral. It’s crystal clear, ethereal and beautiful. The notes ascend past me as I busy myself with getting out plates and napkins for dinner.

I begin humming and bopping to the opening guitar and bass riffs. I absolutely love this song; it somehow feels appropriate for tonight. 

_ It’s getting to the point where I’m not fun anymore...I am sorry. _

The next words of the verse I know by heart, so I start belting them out. 

_ “Sometimes it hurts so badly I must cry out loud...I am lonely...I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are...You make it haaaaard…” _

I hear the door open behind me; I begin to sing even louder so he’ll hear me over the music.

_ “Remember what we’ve said and done and felt about each other...Oh babe have mercy…” _

I bop over to greet him, planting a kiss quickly on his lips as he smiles down at me, his grey eyes dancing with laughter. 

_ Don’t let the past remind us of what we are not now...I am not dreaming… _

I grab his hands, spinning him around. 

_ I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are...you make it haaaaard… _

“You’ve found the stereo system I hear, Snow,” he laughs breathlessly. 

“Damn right I did.” I stop spinning and bring him into me, hugging him close to my body with my arm around his waist. “Dance with me, Pitch,” I whisper in his ear, then kiss right underneath it a bit for good measure. 

“Hmmmm,” he hums in approval. The noise shoots straight down the back of my neck and ends up exploding in my chest. I feel myself growing excited and before I realize what I’m doing, I press into him closer, hungry for any part of him he’ll give me. But then he steps back, his face flushed, eyes wide, and clears his throat. 

“Wine and dine first, yes?” Embarrassed, I look away, adjusting my joggers a bit, smoothing down his shirt and stepping back to give us both some air. He notices my outfit then. “Snow, did you--did you bring a change of clothes with you?”

I rub my hand along the nape of my neck. “Oh, ummm, yeah. I hate my work clothes. Stayed in them far too long yesterday, so I thought I’d just uh, put some spares in my bag for, uh, tonight. I can change if you--”

“Absolutely not,” he says, stepping forward again, rubbing his hands up and down my biceps, then fingering the buttons on my henley. He looks me over again appraisingly and I blush. “This style suits you.” He takes off towards the kitchen. “Are you going to feed me or not, Snow?”

I shake my head, blinking myself out of my daze, then rush to the kitchen. 

Luckily he loves the pizza (it’s Marconi’s - but still no meatballs). We sit on his sectional eating in comfortable silence. I cannot stop looking at him, and I can’t believe I get to do this - at least for now.

“Hey.” He turns mid-bite but doesn’t respond, too well-mannered to talk with his mouth full. I wait for him to chew and swallow. 

"Hello, Snow,” he smiles back. “Enjoying the pizza?”

“Yes. And the view.” He shifts uncomfortably, but doesn’t avert my gaze. Out of nowhere, I find myself saying, “Did you know that I watched you through the window the night of your inauguration? At the ball?”

He furrows his brows in confusion. “But you were there, Snow - you came with Mage. I remember--” he looks down, then puts his plate on the coffee table and turns his body to me. “I remember your suit. It was midnight blue. It was the first time I’d ever seen you wear one. And you left early.”

I pick at a thread on the cushion. “Yeah. It was a graduation present from Ebb. She thought I needed to look like a proper adult since I’d be working at City Hall.”

“She is a wise woman. And you  _ have _ come a long way in your wardrobe choices since then. But, why were you watching me outside when you could have been inside -- as an invited guest and not as a creepy stalker?”

I don’t know how to tell him how beautiful I thought he looked that night - how happy, how proud. How his father beamed at him, knowing all the while it was supposed to be his dead wife in that seat and how hard that must have been for him. How Davy’s glares and snide comments from our corner table made me feel uncomfortable and unsettled, so I left early, hoping to walk out my frustration and forget about my past with Baz. 

I think I walked every path in the park, but somehow I found myself outside of the mayoral mansion once again, drawn back to the light of the window from the dark. There, sitting at a table right on the other side, was Baz, suit jacket off, tie loosened, a glass of wine dangling off his fingers. His head was turned to a group of men. They were chatting comfortably. He looked so at ease, reclining back in his chair, a contented look on his face. He looked like he was where he was meant to be - he belonged there. 

I still didn’t feel like I belonged anywhere back then. 

I don’t say all that to him now, though. I couldn’t possibly know how. 

Instead, I say, “I was mad at Davy. He wouldn’t stop shooting you nasty looks and I just wanted to be there to celebrate with you. But you were pretty busy talking with important people. So, I left,” I shrug. “But I saw you - out in the park, through the window. And you just seemed so happy.” I decide to continue, even though this next part is hard to say out loud. “And Baz, I was just so fucking proud of you but I couldn’t tell you. And I missed you - I missed you so much.” I look down at my lap and shake my head, tears welling in my eyes out of nowhere. 

I feel him scoot towards me, reaching out a hand to cover my knee. “Snow. Hey, Simon. Listen to me,” he says softly. I look up at him. “You are incredible. You’ve always been the brave one. Look at you now - putting your career and yourself in harm’s way to help me. Fuck -- if I had half your courage I’d have done something about Mage a long time ago.” He reaches up to stroke my chin, my jaw. I lean into his hand, closing my eyes and breathing him in. 

“Baz…”

“Wait, just--let me continue. When I saw you at my inauguration, standing right behind Mage, I hadn’t realized how much it would hurt to see you. You’d always been there for me, and there you were again, and when something important and wonderful had happened to you, I turned on you. I’ve always been a selfish prick, but closing you off after you were granted the internship is one of my deepest regrets. I want you to know how sorry I was for how we -- I -- left things. How -- sorry I am. I’m so, so sorry, Simon. You never deserved that.” 

His grey eyes are scanning me. I don’t know if he’s asking for forgiveness. I don’t think I’ll ever really know everything Baz Pitch wants, but in this moment I know at least two things. 

He wants me.

He wants things to be _ right _ with me. So I ask what I need to, to make sure that what I have now stays this way, that it’s for real. I feel like a middle schooler, but I go ahead and say it anyway. 

“Baz -- will you be my boyfriend?”

And for the first time, I think,  _ he _ kisses  _ me _ . His hands cup my face and we melt back into the sofa cushions as one, dinners completely forgotten.

He eventually climbs on top of me, his mouth never leaving mine for more than a moment, gently stroking back my curls with both hands as I grip his waist, pulling him closer to me. 

“Is that a yes?” I murmur into his lips, tearing myself away just a breath apart to get the words out. 

“Do I have to say it? I thought it went poetically unsaid.” He’s such an impossible ass sometimes. He winds his fingers around the hem of my shirt, hiking it up just far enough for him to lean down and kiss at a sliver of my belly. I shiver at the touch of his cool mouth on the sensitive skin there. 

“Say it. I want you to. I need to hear it for myself,” I say breathlessly as I arch up against his lips. 

He pauses and sits back up, looking me up and down; his gray eyes are ringed with warm brown now and they’re laughing, dancing. “Fine. Yes, Snow, I’ll be your boyfriend. May I continue my ministrations now or shall my father draw up the terms of my dowry so we can finally be alone?”

“Hmmm--if I’d known you’d wanted a lengthy courtship, I would have asked Penny to chaperone.”

“Well--lucky for you I don’t mind breaking the rules now and again.” He swings his legs over me, standing up next to the sofa, extending his arm out to me. I sit up so fast I get dizzy, but I’m grabbing at his outstretched hand, following him as he leads me down the hall, up the tight, spiral stairs, and into the open space of his bedroom.

I don’t know if this really counts as a date. I mean, we ate. And there was wine. And that was the most carefully I have ever unbuttoned a shirt. 

But the next morning, I don’t shower alone.

**BAZ**

I look up from my desk to find both Niall and Shepard standing in the doorway.

I think I’m in trouble. Niall’s arms are crossed and Shepard is bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet nervously, looking from me to Niall and back to me; he’s clearly trapped.

“Niall -- will you let the man in, please? You’re not a guard dog, for fuck’s sake.”

He strides over to my desk and slaps his hands down hard on the other side, leaning over as close as he can get, then jabs his pointer finger in my face as he yells. “I demand an explanation. Right now! What the hell is he doing here? Why is he--” he spins around, pointing to Shep who waves sheepishly from the doorway -- “here? AGAIN?” 

“I told you, dude. I needed to finish the --”

“I KNOW THERE WAS NO INTERVIEW!” Niall is nearly hysterical now. “Baz! Now you either tell me what the fuck is going on or I will have security escort this -- person -- out of here whether you like it or not!”

I sigh, looking up the ceiling as if it will procure me a way out of this situation, then finally look back at Niall. “Fine. Go get Dev. Then all of you come in and shut the door behind you.”

Niall rushes out. I look over at Shepard, asking, “Why are you here? Did you really think what you had to tell me couldn’t have just been communicated through your asinine group chat?”

He shakes his head quickly. “Oh, no, your honor. I needed to tell you something in person -- just you.”

I narrow my eyes suspiciously. Niall reappears with Dev by his side 30 seconds later. Dev looks even more angry than Niall. “Have you been having secret meetings with this one? What the fuck, Baz?”

“Oh my god, you two. Will you quit being so childish? Shut the door!”

Dev pushes the door shut, then stands next to Niall, arms crossed, waiting for an explanation. 

“Alright, look. Shepard here has been working on a...special project...for me. It may have implications not just for the campaign, but for all of Watford.”

Dev raises an eyebrow at me. “What’s it about, then?”

I take a deep breath and look out at the windows, across the river, and go on. 

“My mother. And Mage. And Salisbury.”

They’re staring at me, waiting for the rest of the story, so I continue. 

“Simon Snow overheard Mage late one night last week, speaking to a stranger in his office about my mother - bragging about how he arranged for her car accident to happen in the tunnel.”

Dev’s jaw drops open and Niall’s just staring at me. 

“In the process of trying to ascertain whether this was, in fact, true, we happened upon damning evidence of Salisbury and Mage working to...exploit each other’s resources...then discovered that actually, my mother had stepped in to extort the both of them. Three weeks later, my mother died in the car crash. Shepard here, along with Snow and Penelope Bunce, are trying to fit all the pieces of this puzzle together.”

“What the actual fuck, Baz? Why didn’t you tell us sooner? We could have helped! If there was any possibility of someone hurting Aunt Tasha on purpose, I--” Dev looks stricken. Even though my mother was not blood related to him (our fathers are brothers), she was always the most fond of Dev amongst all her Grimm nieces and nephews, probably because we were more like brothers than cousins for so much of our childhood. Perhaps she felt guilty for never giving me a sibling, but she always cared for and looked after Dev like one of her own when he was around, which was often. 

I shake my head. “No - there’s too much we didn’t know, still don’t know. Bunce is trying to fit together the missing pieces from the accident report and chase down any witnesses, Shepard is trying to find out who Mage could have hired to cause the crash, and Snow is downstairs keeping an eye on Mage. He’s the one that brought this motley crew all together.”

“Hey, I thought we were the Mystery, Inc. gang?” Shepard chimes in. 

Niall looks at him like he’s an idiotic child. “ _ Scooby Doo _ ? Really?”

“Is the mayor not the perfect Freddie Jones?” 

“Okay, fine, I see it. But seriously, Baz--this sounds--” Niall lowers his voice to a whisper -- “dangerous. If Mage gets wind of what you’ve figured out, maybe you’ll be next!”

“From now on, you don’t leave the office alone, you hear me?” Dev is booming. “Either me, or Niall, or hell, even Minos -- the dude’s massive, can’t you get him to walk you home?”

“Don’t you think it’ll be a mite suspicious if the head door security of City Hall is literally escorting the mayor back to his flat? That’s more than a bit irregular,” I say. 

“Can’t you get a security detail for yourself or something? The team you use at public events?”

I dislike being fussed over, so I wave them all away. “I’m fine! Stop it! I don’t need all that - it’ll just draw attention to me anyhow. I promise I can take care of myself.”

“So what can we do? We want to help. Right, Niall?”

Niall’s nodding his head. “Of course we do. Whatever you need, Baz.”

“Well, you can start by letting Snow, Bunce, or Shepard into my office without giving them the third degree or your patented withering stare every time they come up here. Assume if they’re here, they want to discuss --- this.”

“So, you’re telling me all the times Simon Snow has come up here in the last week were for this investigation and not for -- _ funny business _ ?” Fuck, how does Niall know everything. 

I flush a bit, thinking of Simon (my boyfriend!) and last night, but recover quickly. “Yes, actually. They were.” I glare at Niall. “The other thing you both can do is keep your ears peeled. Niall, you know every administrative assistant from every city department, apparently.” An indignant look momentarily crosses Dev’s face while Niall looks flustered. “See if they are saying anything out of the ordinary about Mage or the campaign.”

“There are plenty of council members who would be happy to see Mage’s ass hauled off,” Dev says, crossing his arms. 

“Well, luckily for them, even if he didn’t arrange for my mother’s murder, he’s definitely going to be guilty of  _ something _ illegal, along with Salisbury. Now, if you will both excuse me, I think Shepard needs to talk to me privately.” Dev and Niall both move to protest, but I hold a hand up to stop them. “I assure you -- if it is something that you can help with directly, I will tell you about it.”

Reassured, Niall reaches across the desk to pat me on the hand, then grazes Dev’s on the way out the door. Dev pauses before turning to leave. “Was Simon Snow really the one to come up here and tell you about what he heard Mage saying?”

“He was, Dev.”

“But that would mean he snitched on his mentor. For you.” A look of recognition crosses his face, like he’s finally putting pieces of something together in his mind. 

“Yes, Dev. It does.”

He considers this a moment, nods, then walks out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“Well! Since that’s out of the way, can we talk now?” Shepard bounds over to my desk, sitting down in the chair across from me. “Baz--we have a, uhh--tangential problem.”

“Tangential? Is it not related to our investigation?”

“Oh, no. It is. But it may have opened another door we didn’t even realize was there. A trap door? No, more like a secret passageway.”

“Is this about the accident report?”

“No - Penny and I are still working on that. Turns out the police department’s data is wrapped up a little more tightly than Salisbury’s, so it’s taking a bit long to unwind. We’ll get it, though. So, yeah, this is about that birth certificate we found in Salibury’s files.”

“The one with Simon’s birthday on it?”

“Yep, that’s the one. So Pen and I were going back through the Salisbury data dump, trying to cross-check to see if they had any police or other weird law enforcement interactions around that time. They didn’t, by the way. I think we can clear them of any involvement in Mrs. Pitch’s death, at least. But on a whim, she decided to chase down the birth records at Hampshire-Dickinson County Hospital for around that time, just to figure out the timeline, I think, and see what Mr. Mage was trying to hold over Salisbury’s head. And uhhh…” 

Shepard reaches up to adjust his glasses, then leans forward in his chair. 

“Go on.”

Shepard nods. “Yeah, sooooo..turns out, the Salisburys paid an agency to take the newborn baby boy from Hampshire-Dickinson to Watford Children’s Village. Which came with a massive recurring donation to the agency and Children’s Village, by the way. And you know Penny -- she thrives on data and numbers, but she just had this feeling? That there was something more there. Like, it was all just feeling too familiar. So we went into the organization’s records and found out the agency dropped the baby off two days after Simon’s birthday. And, gotta hand it to Penny, because she just kept digging...we also looked and found out that this is when Simon was dropped off at the home.”

“Wait -- this is where Snow was left as an infant as well?”

“Oh, uhh, yeah. Looks like he came without a name - just a sealed birth certificate - so the agency named him.”

“There wasn’t a name on the record of birth we found in either Mage’s or Salisbury’s files, either. Just…”

“Lucy’s name. Yeah.”

“Shepard--” An uncomfortable feeling was beginning to form in my stomach as I could see the end of this trail of thought as clear as day. But I needed to hear him tell me himself.

“Shepard. Is--was--could you find Simon’s birth certificate? Would it say his mother’s birth name on it?”

“We did. There were two - one from the hospital that’s still sealed and one that Simon got from the agency when he turned eighteen, without his birth parents’ names on it.”

“And…the sealed one from the hospital…”

“Has Lucy’s name on it, just like we saw.”

“And the one Simon has--”

“Is identical - just without Lucy’s name.”

“So, are you saying that--?”

“Simon Snow is Simon Salisbury? Yeah - I think the stars line up on that one.”

Oh my god. 

“Was there a father listed anywhere in the records?”

Shepard shakes his head. “No - no other name anywhere besides Lucy Salisbury’s and baby boy Salisbury - then, only Simon Snow.”

“Shit.” I rake my hands over my face, then look up at Shepard. “Does he know yet?”

“No - Penny’s going to tell him when he gets home from work tonight. ‘If he’s even going to bother to come home tonight,’ is what she actually said. I, uh, actually thought you would want to know, too. You know, because Simon is--I can see you and Simon are close. Figured he was over yours the last couple of nights?”

I nod, then look up at him. “Let me be there tonight -- please. Will you tell her I’m going to come by their flat? I’ll even bring him home. I...I want to be there when she tells him. I need to be there for him.”

Shepard nods, and it’s clear he understands why I’m being so insistent without me having to spell it out for him. “Okay, my dude. I totally get it. I’ll let Pen know. I’ll see you later tonight then?”

“Yes. And Shepard -- thank you. For trusting me.”

“Anytime, my dude. Later.” 

He saunters out of my office like he didn’t just drop a grenade in the middle of this investigation - and into the life of the man I love.

And I do - I realize now that I do, that unconsciously I always have, and all I want to do now is protect him and hold him, sheltering him from the blast. 

On a whim, I call up the club to have a little chat with Vera, the 88-year-old secretary and keeper of all visitor logs, backdated newsletters, and frontline gossip for the club for the last 45 years. I ask her to fax me a copy of the January to June 1995 club newsletter.

“Oh, it’s just a lark I have, Vera -- indulge me. I wanted to see the write up of my birth in the newsletter and can’t get to Father’s house anytime soon with all the campaigning, of course.”

“Oh, Basilton! I remember it so well! Your mother, God rest her soul, would come waddling in here next to your father every Sunday for brunch when she was pregnant with you. Always had the Eggs Benedict, even though I warned her the poached eggs would be no good for the baby if she got sick.”

I love it when I get a chance to talk to Vera; she always has the best little anecdotes of my family (and everyone else’s). I smile hearing this story. I love thinking about my mother pregnant with me, my father doting on her, feeding her, loving her. The both of them loving me before I even entered the world. 

I wonder if there was anyone there to do the same for Lucy, for Simon. I look over the old newsletter, the poor quality of the old photocopy smearing the black and white type across the smooth page of the fax paper. Scanning through I find my birth announcement under February’s news. 

Then, there it is -- tucked away in January is Lucy Salisbury, thick curly hair piled up in a high ponytail and posed, smiling, in front of the Stravinsky Fountain in the Centre Pompidou in Paris -- except the picture is clearly from the summer before and not that winter. The blurb underneath announces that Lucy Salisbury will be spending the second semester of her junior year of secondary school in France under the tutelage of Cedric Rime, learning French and traveling the continent. “She has always wanted to broaden her worldview and loves to travel,” her father is quoted. 

I run my fingertips over young Lucy’s picture, noting the resemblance between her and Simon - the curls, the strong jaw, the athletic build. I wonder who the father is - if he’s a man long ago cast aside and forgotten, if he ever even knew Simon was going to exist. 

I wonder where Lucy Salisbury is now and if she ever thinks of Simon. Does she wonder where he is or what he’s become? Was this information meant to die with old Salisbury?

Well, that’s not happening now - not before Simon finds out the truth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you do not know the song "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes" by Crosby, Stills, and Nash, please click on [this link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OvGfQCsfzUo) immediately and listen to this masterpiece of classic rock. 
> 
> Or, if you know it already and fancy a different version, check out [this beautiful cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kwCdPZJ8nuM) from the 2019 Newport Folk Festival with Robin Pecknold (Fleet Foxes), James Mercer (The Shins), Eric D. Johnson (The Fruitbats), Janet Weiss (Sleater-Kinney), and a few other choice indie musicians, plus actual Judy Collins. I'm out there in the audience singing along somewhere -- if you squint real hard. This ranks as one of my top 10 live musical experiences.


	12. Conspiracy Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back alley conspiracies, soft boyfriends & PDA, ancient filing systems, smirks, smirks, and more smirks. Duh, like it's hard?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Just when I thought a fic about election conspiracies and back alley dealings would be a thing inspired by the past, shit has to go and get wild again around here. So! Hopefully this isn't cutting a little too close to home these days and provides a bit of escape from the crazy.
> 
> Thanks as always to the best of the betas TheyIs, who has the most banger titles suggestions for my chapters and listens to all my nonsensical stream-of-consciousness with utmost patience-and actually responds to it. You are the sounding board I never even knew I needed in my life.

**SIMON**

I’ve been hiding in my office all day. Word of the cancelled budget meeting reached Davy this morning, and he’s out there storming around, yelling at anyone in his path, jumping down the throats of his good-natured staff at the slightest provocation. 

Eventually he finds his way into my office. This is the confrontation I was trying to avoid all day. I spin my chair around to greet him, schooling my face into a neutral expression. 

“Simon.” His hands are resting on both his hips.

“Oh, hey there, sir. How’s everything going?” I ask, feigning innocence. 

“Not well, Simon, not well. Did you know that the mayor was going to call off the dam project and cancel the special meeting? I thought you said you spoke with him and that everything was going according to his plans. That he and Grimm were prepared to defend the budget to the council?” 

“Sir, look, I have no idea why the mayor would have called it off after all that work. But, I don’t think I understand why you’re angry -- isn’t this what we wanted? The chance to have some input on the project? To ah, avoid using his investors, collaborate with the city ecologists for the sake of the riverfront? You know - all the reasons we gave for opposing his version of the project in the first place?”

“Well...I suppose so, yes. But he’s clearly only doing it because of the election. Do you really think he’s suddenly grown a spine? A conscience? Simon, don’t let him fool you. Can’t you see he’s still the same? He and his family are only here to take advantage of Watford’s citizens and line their own pockets. Nothing will change in Watford as long as Grimm-Pitch is in charge.” 

I want to defend Baz (my boyfriend!), to rise up and tell Davy how wrong he is about him. How he’s doing the right thing. How we’re all only a product of our environment and that all of us can grow, change, and learn.

But I can’t. We have come so far, and we’re so close to the truth. I can’t shrug Davy off now. Not yet. 

“Sir--please think of how this is going to benefit us! We can stand there and say, see? Our ideas are so great, even the mayor listens to us!”

He freezes in the doorway, a dark look settling on his face. I already knew, but seeing and hearing it for myself still jolts me, freezes me to my core. 

He doesn’t care about Watford.

He only cares about power. 

“Simon -- head down to council and file a motion for a special vote on the charter for this Friday.”

“But if you win the election, your own powers will be--”

“Obviously I will ensure my replacement on the council amends the charter back,” he growls low, advancing on me. “Have you learned nothing from working under me all these years, young man? Power resides with those who are willing to wield it. Grimm-Pitch thinks his power comes from his lineage, and he can use it for himself with abandon perched up there in his grand chambers; but I know mine comes from the people, and I will use it as such because I’m worthy of it. File the motion.”

He turns and storms away from me, slamming the door behind him. 

I’m rattled; my heart stammers in my chest and I struggle to get my breath back to normal. For the first time, I’m scared of him and what he’s capable of. With a shaking hand, I text Baz.

**Me:** Hey -- he’s pretty pissed off about the meeting being cancelled.

**_Baz:_ ** _Naturally - what did you expect?_

**Me:** That he’d be happy? He was supposed to be happy cuz it's what he wanted, right?

**_Baz:_** _We know that’s not what he really wants, Simon._

I sigh, tucking my phone away. If I didn’t know it then, I truly know it now. 

__________________________

I get a text from Baz right around 6:00 asking if he can walk me home and I agree quickly - I’m ready to get the fuck out of here and cuddle with my boyfriend and tell him everything I know about Davy’s plan to amend the city charter (decidedly unromantic, but what kind of partner would I be if I didn’t keep ratting on my boss for him?). I wonder if it’s time to tell Penny about us or if we should wait until this is all over. I don’t know if I can wait any longer; now that I know he’s mine, I want everyone to know. 

I wait for him on the same park bench I sat on last week. It feels like a year ago and yesterday all at once. So much has happened in less than a week, but it was all set in motion so many years ago. Rather than feeling rushed, it just feels...inevitable. Ineffable, even. That this is somehow where I was always supposed to be - waiting on a bench for my stupidly beautiful, important boyfriend so we can save the city together. 

That’s some real superhero bullshit right there. 

Lost in my thoughts, I jump slightly when his shadow crosses over me. 

“Snow. Ready to go?” He seems---nervous? I guess this is the first time we’ve seen each other as boyfriends in public (does a bench in a dark park count?). I wonder if we’re allowed to hold hands yet. Instead of reaching for him and pulling him into me like I want to, I jump off the bench, running a hand through my hair.

“Hey. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Bad day?”

“Ha. You could say that. So,” I say, as we begin walking towards the train station. “You’re leaving work awfully early.”

“Ah - yes I am.”

“Why?”

“Can’t a man enjoy an evening stroll with his beau and relax, Snow?”

I smile, because that’s me (I’m his beau), and turn to him. “Definitely.” I reach out and give his hand a quick squeeze. He squeezes back, then we both tacitly agree to drop our hands. 

“So,” I begin nervously, “Davy asked me to go to council to schedule a vote to amend the charter this Friday.” I feel like I’m dropping another bomb on him, but Baz only sighs in resignation.

“What, so he can reduce me to a ribbon-cutting figurehead? It won’t happen, Snow. He can’t call a special meeting with two days’ notice like that. Does he even have a home rule charter commission set up yet? He’s not able to call on the city council for a vote without a public hearing that lays out the proposed changes first.”

“Oh, uh, no, don’t think so,” I respond. I realize that _I’m_ probably the one who was supposed to set the commission in the first place, but I’ve been a bit lax in my duties lately (can’t imagine what’s preoccupying me). 

“Yes, I thought as much. It’s almost like he has no regard for the formalities of civics or something,” he smirks. I laugh, relieved that he’s taking it so well. I guess I knew it was a long shot that he could get the council to vote so soon, but I’m still worried that Davy will find a way to get what he wants.

He always seems to, doesn’t he? 

We walk the rest of the way in silence, speaking instead through wordless looks and glances, making my belly fill with warmth, with fire. 

But when we arrive at the flat and open the door, it’s like an episode of _Celebrity Rehab_ \-- Shepard and Penny are perched seriously on the edge of the sofa cushions, hands folded in front of them in somber silence.

“Uhhh...hi guys. Umm, what’s going on?” I look back at Baz who is closing the door behind us, and he has the same exact serious look on his face. 

“Simon -- let’s sit down,” and he leads me to the recliner, sitting me down, perching next to me, his arms around my shoulders.

And it’s then I feel rather than hear it coming - another revelation. It’s about me.

It’s about---

“Birth certificate...Lucy Salisbury…your mother...agency...” The words come out. You know they’re going to keep coming, like a massive wave, but somehow you’re caught unawares even though you anticipate it. You’re tumbling around the sea’s floor, the wave and the current having its way with you. 

But no -- no. I know how to swim. I’ve always been a strong swimmer, a survivor. I know how to swim parallel to the shore and how to ride the wave in.

Baz grasps for my hand, and I circle my arms around his waist in a hug. Penny and Shep come over as well, kneeling down around me, holding me.

Instead of staying silent, I speak: “Guys, you know this doesn’t change anything for me. I always knew I’d been given up. It’s not like I suddenly need some assholes who didn’t want me in their lives. I think I ended up okay -- I got Ebb, in the end, and all of you. All things considered, it could’ve been worse, yeah?”

And this really doesn’t - change a thing, I mean. We knew the Salisburys rolled the dice on people’s livelihoods, that Davy gambles with people’s lives, too, or worse. The worst thing isn’t knowing I have a family out there somewhere who disposed of me (I’d made peace with that long ago), but that the person I used to trust the most in this world knew and never told me - a thoroughly unsurprising fact of my life lately.

There’s not a single person in Watford this investigation doesn’t touch in some way, whether it’s personal or not. But we’re here to play the long game.

And we will win. 

**BAZ**

This man will break me and will put me back together all at once. How he’s sitting here still in one piece after this is beyond me.

I love him.

I think he knows I love him.

I will fix this for him. For us.

**SIMON**

Baz is still here, always has been.

I love him.

I will fix this for him. For us.

__________________________

The rest of the night was spent planning - I’d even say plotting - how to get the final pieces of information we’d need to put this whole thing to an end. Shepard had mentioned that his contact at White Chapel was going to “talk to some people who know some people,” and that they may be getting in touch with us soon, but wouldn’t know exactly who it would be or when to expect it.

It’s on my way out of my office, on my way to Baz’s the next night, that a big hand clasps me on my shoulder. I jump, spinning around to see Minos, who has apparently left his perch at the front doors.

“Ah! Minos! You---you scared me half to death! How are you?”

"Oh ahhh, fine, Simon. Say, is Mr. Mage still here?”

“It’s past 6:00, right? You know he doesn’t stick around too much past 5 or 6. Why? You looking for him?”

“Oh well, actually I was hoping to speak with you, if you don’t mind. It’s about--well--” he looks up and down the hallway before ducking down to reach me, speaking so low that I have to strain to hear him. “--I know Shepard.”

“What? You do? How?”

“Oh, well, uhh….” His voice lowers to practically a whisper. “We have some mutual acquaintances. From White Chapel. He’s come by the last couple’a nights to talk about, you know…” He glances up again, then looks back down at me “...the accident.”

I step back. “The accident? You mean…”

His eyes point down the other end of the hall, his head cocked to the side. “Shall we?”

I nod and follow him outside through a back door that leads into the alleyway where the dumpsters are kept. He takes a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket, offering me one. I shake my head, then watch as he slides a cigarette out of the pack, tosses it into his mouth, then bends down to light it with a match. He shakes it out before it burns down to his fingers.

He takes a deep drag, then picks up our conversation where we left off inside. “So, the night Natasha Pitch died. I hear you think it wasn’t just an accident.”

I narrow my eyes at him, not quite sure how much I should reveal to him. “Uhhh, yeah. Something like that. Why - do you know something?”

He takes another drag and blows his smoke out the side of his mouth while nodding his head. “Uh huh. Matter of fact, I do.”

“So, do you know if it was really an accident or not?”

“Can’t say for sure. But here’s what I can tell you. The night Ms. Pitch’s car crashed into the tunnel, your boss came and asked me to do him a favor.”

“You’ve been working here that long?”

“Oh, yeah. Mr. Mage found me at White Chapel, handpicked me to guard the front doors of City Hall himself, actually. But anyway…” He waves the rest of his story away with the hand holding his cigarette, his smoke trailing through air like a sparkler. “The week before, Mr. Mage was working a bit later than usual - as you said, he’s usually gone by 6. Earlier, really. But one night, he was staying a bit later, asked me to keep an eye out for a friend that was coming by. Moved me to the loading dock entry from the front.”

“Can...can he even do that? I mean, eight years ago, Davy was only a council member. He wasn’t even the city administrator yet.” 

“I think you know that Mr. Mage has a way of getting his fingers into the things that matter to him. So he asks me to come back here. I said why. He said it didn’t matter, but that when a knock came at 9:00 to open the door, send the person his way, and return to my post. I didn’t ask no questions - I owed him for getting me this job. Plus I’m not in the habit of trying to find out things I’d rather not know. You learn that pretty quickly in the ring. Better to respond quickly to your trainer in the heat of the moment than consider anything for too long. That’s how you get knocked out.”

I nod while he takes a few more drags off his cigarette then tosses it down, stomping out the glowing embers with the toe of his boot.

“So...do you know who it was? At the door?”

“Well - no one I’d seen before. I think I even asked, who the fuck are you anyway, man? He just said, ‘I’m nobody - just a humdrum.’ I still don’t know what that means. But, I let him in, showed him to Mr. Mage’s office just the same, like I’d been asked to.” 

“Okay. I mean, back door, late night. All that’s pretty weird. Why do you think this person had anything to do with Ms. Pitch’s accident, though?”

“Well...let’s just say that wasn’t the only late night Mr. Mage had. Wasn’t the last time I met that fucking weirdo, either.” 

“You--you saw him again?”

“Just one other time. Mr. Mage stayed late again -- this time later than I’d ever seen him stay to work. And that night, he uhhh…” Minos stops for a second. He’s tight-lipped, like he doesn’t really want to give any more of his story away. “Ahhh, fuck it. He asked me to walk down to the tunnel at 10:00. Said, ‘just see what you can see. Then come and tell me what you saw. You may be in for a show.’ Fuck.” He shakes his head. “Your boss is crazy, man. What the fuck does that even mean? ‘You may be in for a show.’ That’s fucking sick, is what it is.”

“Hey--hey, it’s okay, man, sir, uhhhh...Minos. What--what did you see? Did you--was it the night of--did you see the accident?”

He’s shaking his head faster now, working himself up. “I swear I had no idea-- _no_ idea. I didn’t know his intentions. I still don’t really get what he wanted from me that night. It was too deep in the tunnel to see from the entrance - pedestrians can’t really get that close up, ya know? But I heard it - the screech, the crunching metal. I saw the tips of the flames reaching out of the tunnel. I saw...” He takes a second to compose himself. “I don’t know how it’s possible, but I swear I saw him, the guy I let in that night, just--walking out of the tunnel’s emergency exit door. It was so dark, though, I couldn’t be sure.”

“Did you try to reach him? Yell to him? Anything?”

“Nah. Just stood around long enough to make sure the emergency responders showed up. A random cop saw me, interviewed me, asked if I saw or heard anything. Told him everything I saw and heard - including about the dude walking out. Then I…just went back to my post. It was probably 11:30? And then off the lift he comes, and asks me...he goes, ‘Did you see something grand, my dear fellow?’ And he had this fucking grin on his face like...like he knew exactly what I was going to see.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Yeah--I did. I just said, ‘Sir, best avoid the West River Tunnel if you’re driving home tonight - seems to have been a bad accident in there.’ I mean, I knew he knew--we could already hear the sirens off in the distance at that point.”

“Fuck,” I mutter, running my fingers through my hair. “Okay. So. Minos. Do you by any chance have the keys to Davy’s office?”

He laughs, a deep-bellied thing that makes me smile. “Oh, Simon...do you really think that the night guard has that much power?”

“Well, you are one of the heads of security now. It was worth a shot,” I said, shrugging. “So -- why are you telling me all this anyway? I thought you’d be loyal to Davy, seeing as he got you this job, approved your promotions, all that.”

He puffs his chest up. “Sure - but I _earned_ those promotions. And his behavior ain't the kind of shit that earns _my_ loyalty.” 

We walk back inside, carefully checking to make sure nobody sees us reentering from the rear. Minos moves to walk back to his post at the front door. He claps a friendly hand on my shoulder again. “Simon, be careful, yeah? Mr. Mage is not to be trifled with - more so than I think you realize.”

“I will -- I promise. Oh, and uh--would you mind if I got your number? Just...in case something comes up?”

He beams at me and takes my phone, punching in his contact info with the most massive fingers I have ever seen. I shudder to think what damage they’ve done to others in the past. 

“I really appreciate you coming to talk to me Minos. Thanks...really.”

He nods, and I immediately text Baz to see if he’s still in his office (of course he is - it’s only 6:00). 

**Me:** Still got those skeleton keys on you, Mr. Mayor? 

**BAZ**

When Simon texts me to meet him in front of Mage’s office with the skeleton key, my imagination starts running wild. What has he found out? Heard? Is he safe? Is he locked out? 

I check with him first to make sure Mage isn’t there, then casually walk across the foyer towards the lifts, keys in hand, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Niall. 

“And where do you think you’re going? You’re clearly not leaving the building because you're not wearing your coat.”

I freeze -- Niall can stop me with just his words. Should have known better than to try to sneak by him.

“Simon. He ahhh--he needs something from me.”

“So you’re just going to saunter down to the city administrator’s office, are you? Alone? With no appointment or anything? Are you even thinking of how that would look right now, especially this late?” He crosses his arms in front of me, his eyebrows knitted together in a scowl. 

But he’s caught me off guard; I suppose I hadn’t actually thought through how this was all going to look. And I don’t have to hide from him anymore. I turn to him, holding out the keys in my outstretched palm.

“I need you to run these keys down to Simon’s office. Please. He’s waiting.”

Niall doesn’t ask what it’s about; just rises from his desk chair and reaches me in three strides, nodding as he grabs the keys out of my hand without even slowing down as he approaches the lifts. 

Ding - and then he disappears. 

__________________________

It feels like a lifetime before I hear from Simon again. In actuality, it’s only about 20 minutes later that the lift dings. I sit up straight in my desk chair, then dash out of my office into the foyer. Simon is standing there, waving his phone in the air triumphantly.

I cross over to him immediately, but stop short before reaching out to brush his hair off his forehead and planting a massive kiss there. Niall is watching, and I don’t know if Simon is into PDA or, if I’m being honest with myself, if I’m ready to make our relationship that public. 

Fortunately, Simon makes the decision for me, wrapping me up in a massive hug, then quickly stepping back and straightening out as he glances nervously over at Niall.

“Mmm hmm,” Niall hums, hands on hip, eyes rolling and nodding his head at Dev, who has popped his head out of the doorway of his office, eyebrows raised and a knowing smile on his face. 

“Snow.” He strolls over to us and nods curtly at Simon, extending his hand, which Simon accepts and shakes curtly; it’s the most cordial I have ever seen them interact with each other. Something inside me inflates, warms. I reach over, grabbing Simon’s hand while staring at Dev, daring him and Niall to make another comment. 

“Alright, alright. Stop fussing. Snow, what do you have for us?” I ask, trying to break the almighty high Dev and Niall have acquired from figuring out my love life. 

We all look down at Simon’s mobile. All I can see is a white square with black lettering, but I can’t tell what any of it says.   
  
“Well?” I raise both eyebrows at him so he knows I mean business. 

Simon takes a moment before I nod at him, a silent reassurance that Niall and Dev can be trusted with the information, before gesturing them over. We crowd around him, looking at a close up picture of a single index card.

“Sooo...what are we looking at here, exactly?” Niall asks. 

“Alright, so, I get into Davy’s office and I guess I’ve been in there before - I must have, right? But we usually have meetings in the conference room or he comes to see me. And now I know why -- his office is like, totally blank.”

“Blank? What does that mean, blank?” asks Dev.

“Like - there’s nothing there. An older desktop computer. A few books and binders up on the shelves. Filing cabinets are practically empty. But his desk drawers were locked.”

“And one of the skeleton keys let you into his desk drawer?” I ask in surprise.

“Oh, no - I picked that no problem,” Simon beams. He’s clearly proud of this accomplishment since he’s vibrating like a little puppy who’s just had his toy thrown back at him to fetch. Adorable. 

“You--broke into your boss’s desk drawer?” Niall asks incredulously. I’ve forgotten that he’s not well acquainted with Simon’s charms - yet. 

“Duh, like it’s hard?” We’re still staring at him when he explains, “Some foster homes I stayed in used to keep the food locked up. If you wanted a snack, you had better figure out how to unlock the cabinets in the middle of the night, you know?”

Obviously we do not, in fact, know what that is like, but we all nod awkwardly in assent.

“So...what was in the drawer again?” Niall asks impatiently.

“Oh! Yeah, so--this.” He holds his phone up to us, swiping at the screen to a picture of…

“Is that a...a Rolodex, Snow?” I ask.

“Is that what you call those flippy things you store business cards in?”

“Yes - but who has a Rolodex anymore? It’s not 1985.” I roll my eyes as I say it, realizing that _of course_ Mage keeps his forbidden contacts in a locked drawer in a fucking _Rolodex_. 

“Well - Davy. Obviously,” says Simon. “And--I think I found what we’re looking for.” He swipes at his screen, showing us the first picture again. It’s a business card, filed under “H” in the Rolodex. The card is practically blank except for two words stamped in shiny black embossed Times New Roman letters that read “Humdrum, Inc.” There’s a number underneath it but nothing else. 

“Snow - what is this? Why is this important?” I ask. 

As he spills the details about his encounter with Minos, a chill begins to run through me. It’s ice water, slithering down my back. My hands clench, shoulders knot at the decisiveness, the eerie coldness of this man. His calculating and maneuvering - all for what? To silence my mother? To ascend to power? Even now, after all we’ve uncovered, I’m still not sure I know what he wanted, why he did this. 

“Well - what do we do now?” Niall asks, biting his lip in concern.

But I know what to do. I raise my eyebrow at the allies assembled before me. 

“We call the number.” 


	13. Retirement Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to speak to hitmen on the phone: a primer. Also, who knew ordering a hit was like ordering a pizza? And never forget - hitmen are people, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading/still reading! Remember when I thought I'd be done with this by the November election, but then it was okay because bad shit kept happening anyway? Well, I'm still here and still writing and better shit is happening. Hope to end this fic on the same positive note!
> 
> Also, thanks as always to my wonderful beta TheyIs, who read the first draft and was like, nah -- this could be better. I was mad for like .5 seconds and then rewrote everything and, as usual, They was right. <3

**BAZ**   
Good lord, I hope this is the right thing to do. I’m trying hard to maintain a cool facade, but my insides are drawn so tightly that I feel like I’ll sever at the slightest provocation.

It’s been a long day, it’s late, but Bunce, Shepard, Dev, Niall, Simon and I are gathered in my apartment, anticipation buzzing through us like an impending thunderstorm, the atmosphere heavy and overloaded. Fortunately, Simon’s found his way to my lap (he truly is like a dog, the charming oaf) and is perched on my knees, leaning forward towards the coffee table; I lay a hand lightly at his hip, the contact grounding me, connecting us together. 

Shepard is on the floor, the burner phone that Bunce got from somewhere (no one’s asking questions) in front of him on the coffee table. He’s the only one among us who looks even remotely relaxed at the prospect of contacting a contract killer. Come to think of it, this phone call is probably one of the least dangerous things Shepard has done for a story. 

Simon hands him his own phone, showing him the picture with the contact card. Penny nods at him and he dials the number. He looks up and around at all of us

“Errrr...let’s do this?” he asks, pumping his fist into the air weakly, like we’re getting ready for a pick-up basketball game that we’ve all somehow been forced to join. We nod solemnly.

It’s now or never.

And then he presses the red button to make the call go. 

We collectively hold our breath. 

The phone is on speaker, loud enough for all of us to hear when it rings once, twice. The rings abruptly stop, replaced with a loud screech that sounds like we’ve called a fax machine by accident.

A robotic voice cracks the silence, saying, “Please leave your number, press the pound key, and hang up. Pick up after the third ring only. Good-bye.” 

Shepard looks up at Penny, who scrambles to write the burner phone’s number down into one of her notebooks. She shoves it at him and he quickly enters it, presses pound, and hangs up. 

“Whew! Wow! That was so cool!” Shepard breathes out enthusiastically. “Right, guys?” He adjusts his round glasses slightly, looking from face to face, but from where I’m sitting, no one seems like they’re in a particularly celebratory mood. 

“What was that?” asks Dev. 

“Answering service? I guess it would have been pretty weird if someone had actually like, answered the phone,” Shepard shrugs.

“Pen - will you be able to find out where the call originated from?” Simon asks. 

Bunce shakes her head. “Not yet. I’d have to crack into the phone company’s metadata to find out where it came from, but the number we called could probably be anywhere in the globe, honestly, if it’s just an answering service.” 

We are all still, quiet. Anxious. Simon, who has since stood up, walks in circles around the living room, tugging at his hair. Dev sits in his usual cross-armed pose on the couch, Niall standing behind him, chewing on his lip. 

Bunce is perched behind her keyboard as usual, the click of the keyboard the only noise in the room. 

We all flinch when the burner rings three times, piercing the air. I hear our collective inhale. 

Shepard answers on the third ring as instructed. “Hello?” he answers, as if he is answering any ordinary call. 

A robotic, modulated voice floats out of the phone, surrounding us like a whisper in an echo chamber. 

“Humdrum, Inc.,” the voice says, sounding like Stephen Hawking on the other end of the line.

We all stare at Shepard, who remains remarkably calm. 

“Hi there! I’d like to order a uh, you know…” he says, like he’s ordering a pizza for delivery.

“Wet job or dry job?” the voice asks. Shepard turns to us, his hands making a typing motion. Dev quickly punches something into his phone, then hands it to Shepard, who is now wearing a hilariously disgusted look. 

“Oh, uh, dry job, definitely dry. No blood. But ummm...how do I know you’re qualified for the job? Do you have a portfolio or something I can browse, or…”

“Look,” the voice interrupts Shepard, “we can meet at Mill 350 to discuss details. I’ll need 3Gs up front for my research, then the other 7 can be delivered once the job is complete.”

“Mill 350? But isn’t that the abandoned one that’s being converted to…?”

“Mill 350. 0200 hours. Look for the H near the back entrance facing the riverfront. You’ll figure out what to do once you see it.” 

Click. The line goes dead. We’re silent for a beat, the call having momentarily snuffed out all our breath.

Shepard double checks that the phone call has been disconnected before letting out his own breath in a massively loud stream. “Wheeeew! Wow, wow, wow. Now that!” He punctuates his words with another celebratory fist pump, this one more enthusiastic. “My dudes, that may have been the most intense phone call I’ve ever made! How’d I do?”

Bunce is beside herself, bouncing up and down on the sofa cushion. “Shep! You did it!” She throws her arms around his shoulders, squeezing him close to her, then clears her throat and jumps back quickly. Shepard is blushing furiously and I’m rather enjoying seeing someone else get embarrassed for once. 

Simon has wandered over to one of the long windows and is staring out beyond the skyline to the river, a perplexed look on his face. “Mill 350? Isn’t that where one of the hydroelectric converters is supposed to go?” he asks, his voice low. 

“Yup,” says Dev. “Shouldn’t you know that, Snow?” He strolls over to Simon, hands in pockets, and gazes out the window beside him.

“Oh, well, yeah. I just...I can’t understand how someone has a business set up there?”

“I mean...the abandoned mills  _ are _ patrolled, of course. But say your boss may have made an arrangement with this Humdrum person? And some police? Set him up there so he goes unnoticed? Now that I think about it, maybe that’s why he was so hell bent on derailing our project,” Dev ponders, tapping his chin. “Maybe--” 

“Fuck!” Simon cries, making us all jump. “Sorry! Sorry. It’s just...one surprise after another, isn’t it?” he laughs bitterly, running a hand through his hair. 

I stand immediately and go to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Hey - hey, it’s okay,” I whisper close to his ear, turning him to face me. “We’re going to figure out what’s happening here - together. Yes?” I stoke the inside of his palm - I’ve already memorized all the places Simon needs to be touched to be calmed. He nods and breathes deeply, taking a moment with me, then rejoins the group. 

“Okay, we have, like, 2 hours to get ready for this, guys. So where the fuck are we going to get three-thousand dollars?” Simon asks. 

But I’m already whipping out a wad of cash from the locked trunk I keep at the bottom of the entryway closet.

“Here.” I thrust the money at Shepard, who looks at me with both shock and glee.

“Baz, where did you--”

I hold up a hand to Simon to cut off his question. “From the bank, Snow. Obviously.”

His beautiful mouth is hanging open, so I pat the underside of his chin to prop it back up. 

We have the money; now, we need a plan. “Alright, there’s an overgrown parking area right on the other side of Canal East that--” 

“Baz, you’re not going into that mill. You know that, right?” Simon interrupts, turning to me with concern pooling in his blue eyes as they bore into mine.

“I--”

“Baz. You’re the mayor. The  _ mayor _ . Natasha Pitch’s  _ son _ . Everyone knows you - especially this guy. He killed your mom! I mean, maybe. Probably. But that’s what we’re here to find out. And in the meantime, we have to keep you safe.”

“But--” Simon places a finger gently on my lip, smiling up at me this time.

But what about all of  _ them _ ? I feel like I’ve backed my closest friends, allies, the people I love, into a corner and they’ve no choice but to follow this through to the end. I’ve let them all down. If anything happens to them, it will be on my shoulders. 

And what if this isn't even the end? What if it’s the beginning of something worse?

Simon takes his finger away, and I absorb the chatter of everyone around me. They’ve sprung to life, making plans, trying to fix this thing that began when we were all children. I let them do it. I look over at Simon, my Simon, talking excitedly, seamlessly slipping his hand into mine, weaving our fingers together, his thumb rubbing soft circles across my knuckles; I think he’s memorized my body, too. I glance over to admire him but he’s already looking at me. “What?” I raise my eyebrow at him. 

“It’s going to be okay, yeah?” he says, squeezing my hand in reassurance. It’s not a question. 

“Yes, Simon. If you say it is, I think it will be.” 

I squeeze back. 

**SIMON**

After many, many promises of keeping Baz and Penny on the line the whole time, not doing something completely stupid, and assurances that we’d only come to the meeting if Minos could come with us, it was decided that Shepard and I would go to the mill and everyone else would stay back at Baz’s flat. 

Shepard and I have parked on the far end of this block of mills by the concrete foot bridge that crosses over one of the canals. I sent a quick text off to Minos, hoping he could come as back-up. Luckily, his shift ended at 1 a.m. and he said he would be happy to help; he’s meeting us at the entryway to make sure everything’s clear. 

Backup acquired. 

Cue  _ Mission: Impossible _ music - something dramatic and instrumental.

Standing on the footbridge, I look up at the mill now, but seeing it in the dark like this, in the shadows, makes it look like a gothic castle. (Or maybe it’s Victorian? Baz would know the difference). There are no spires, but there are crumbling smokestacks. Canals made from water diverted off the West River form massive watery bridges, surrounding the mill like a moat, turning the building into a fortress we need to strategically breach.

The rivers and canals once provided enough water power to fuel the industry that resided inside these colossal spaces - paper and textiles for the rest of the country. Now, they’re just hulking masses, blank canvases waiting for the Watford Redistricting Committee to convert them into trendy art studios or apartments with quirky columns and exposed brick walls.

But right now, they stand empty. Waiting. Occupied by who knows what, or who; I suppose we’re about to find out. 

Shepard and I follow the winding, overgrown path towards the mill until we’ve reached the waterfront. The meager yellow safety lights from the rear of the building bounce reflectively off the black water, winking. It’s barely enough light to see where we’re standing, but once we turn the corner to the back of the building, we see Minos in the shadows like that night in the alleyway, waving at us in greeting.

I look up and around at the massive building now that we’re fully at the back of it. The floor-to-ceiling windows are wide and gaping. They’re open holes in some places, boarded over in others, while some are remarkably intact, made of tiny little squares that are incrementally broken with a spare, weak light from somewhere in the depths illuminating some of the panels.

“Sooooo...where’s the H?” Shepard asks. We all look around at the ground below us, up the path, and at the back wall. There’s no door, at least not in this part of the rear. We’re looking for a doorbell, a speaker -- anything marked with an H. 

“I don’t see anything!” I say, running my hand through my hair and tilting my head up in frustration. Then I freeze--underneath a rickety metal walkway that runs between the second floor of an old outbuilding and the mill, I see it - a massive spray painted H in fancy lettering. I point up, smiling.

“Are we meant to scale the outbuilding and get in that way, you think?” Shepard asks in wonder. 

“Only one way to find out. Minos, can you give me a boost?” I ask. He quickly makes his way over to the outbuilding, leaning his bulk against the rough bricks.

“Alright, you two -- one at a time now.” He laces his fingers together to create a makeshift stepladder. I step into outstretched hands and he thrusts me up in the air quickly, but there’s absolutely nothing to grip onto to hoist me all the way up to the walkway. I feel myself begin to fall without something to hold onto, windmilling my arms as I fall backwards, but Minos catches me on the way down.

“Hmm...bit too high up, eh?” Minos says, considering the building, placing me back on solid ground and rubbing at his chin.

“Uh, guys?” We both turn and look at Shepard, who found a cracked wooden door behind the overgrown vines that have taken over most of the building; he has it wide open. “Think we can just go this way?” he grins, pointing at the open door. 

“Always try the front door first! Right, Simon?” says Minos cheerfully, slapping me roughly on the back as he strides to the door. “And--I’m going in ahead. You two wait here.” He points at us, then turns and disappears through the dark doorway. 

Shepard and I look at each other; I shrug and he just fixes his glasses. 

After a few tense moments, Minos sticks his head back out of the doorway, gesturing for us to follow him. 

The floor of the building is concrete, but the interior walls are all stone and brick. It’s damp and musty, like the basement in an old house that’s flooded again and again. Pieces of broken motors, discarded 2x4s, rusted cranks, and miscellaneous other pieces of equipment are strewn across the floor haphazardly.

We follow Minos, winding through the obstacles using just the weak light from our phones to guide us, until we come to a wooden staircase at the back. We follow it up to the second story of the building. It’s completely empty, windowless, and nearly pitch-black. The only feature breaking up the brick wall is a door leading to the overhead walkway, spray painted with another black H. 

Minos holds the door open for us, but thrusts a massive arm in front of the doorway before we walk outside.

“Listen, you two. I’ll be right on the other side of that door.” He points to the door that leads into the mill. “Don’t think Mr. H. would like to see my face lurking around again, eh? Shepard, call me so I can hear everything going on in there.” He taps at a wireless earbud nestled into his ear. “I’ll bust in if anything gets out of hand.” He pulls the front panel of his jacket aside to momentarily reveal his holster, then tucks it away again quickly. 

He nods at us. “Alright boys. Do your thing.”

I nod at him and we walk over the metal walkway, the wind from the river whipping around us, shaking the ramp ever so slightly. There’s another massive H scrawled over the door to the mill. Shepard cracks it open tentatively, nods at Minos as he dials his number, then pockets his phone in his jeans. I do the same with mine, silently calling Baz’s mobile and then dropping my phone into my front pocket. We tiptoe inside the rest of the way, closing the door and leaving Minos outside behind us.

I breathe deeply as my eyes adjust to the dim light inside. Shepard and I have walked onto some kind of metal platform that looks down onto the entire open floor of the mill. From up here we see the warped wooden floors, the massive floor-to-ceiling columns... 

And nothing else. This was supposed to be the mill that houses the hydroelectric engines and converters that Salisbury was responsible for building, but the space is remarkably empty - not even any old equipment or paperwork scattered here and there. There is absolutely no building in progress - or progress at all.

Except for a small door in the back corner, nestled into the bricks. That is now creaking open. I hold my breath and dig my fingers into Shepard’s wrist as we watch a dim figure creep from the corner across the floor of the mill, footsteps echoing around us.

The figure stops in the middle and looks up. It gestures to us to come down. Shep and I look at each other, then look for the stairway. It’s a make-shift one, set up like scaffolding. We carefully pick our way down each stair until we’ve reached the bottom and pause, waiting for further instructions.

He motions for us to approach him, then puts his hands into his coat pockets. 

Shepard leans over and whispers in my ear, “Leave the talking to me, my dude.” I nod, understanding that whatever improvements I’ve made in my ability to communicate, they probably haven’t quite reached the level of “talk to a professional hitman” with any sort of chill. 

We tread carefully across the floor until we’re face to face. Up close, he looks like a model for an L.L. Bean catalog; he’s wearing an ordinary khaki barn coat with a leather collar and cuffs and smells like chewing tobacco. Kind of looks like Davy, actually. Just an ordinary, middle-aged man with steely gray hair. Someone’s dad, even. 

Don’t really know what I was expecting -- a Bond villain? Dr. Evil? Someone in a trench coat holding a tiny revolver in his palm? 

I suppose hitmen are just people, in the end.

“Who made the call?” he asks gruffly, waving a hand between the two of us.

“I did, sir,” Shepard says with a little too much glee in his voice (I think that’s just his default tone), holding up his hand like he’s in class. “We ahhh, we appreciate you meeting us on such short--”

“Do you have the deposit?” he asks, cocking his head to the side, hands never leaving his pockets.

Shepard reaches into his jean jacket and pulls out an envelope stuffed with bills and hands it over. The man reaches out, opens up the parcel and thumbs through the bills before pocketing them. 

“Target?” he asks. 

“Oh! Yes, well, so, Mr. H., sir - can I call you Mr. H.? We ahh...we’re working for--” Shepard leans in closer “--Mr. Mage.”

The man snorts and throws his hands up. “Ahhh fuck! It figures. Listen to me, sonny. I ain’t doing one more job for that bloodsucker. I don’t owe him jack shit -- and you can go back and tell him I said so.”

“Right, right. I mean, I thought you all had a great partnership going, though…”

“Is that what he told you?” the man grunts out, then turns his head and spits on the ground. “Suppose he didn’t tell you how much he owes me while he was at it.” The man shakes his head. 

Shepard nods right back, knowingly. “You know, he owes me, too. For uh--unpaid bets.” 

The man leans in, pointing his finger at Shepard. “You too? What a fucking stiff! I tell ya...do you know how much it cost me to do the first job for him? I could have  _ died _ !” 

“Right!” Shepard snaps his fingers. “West River tunnel explosion? I’ve always admired that handiwork,” Shepard says. I have no clue how he’s doing this all with a straight face because I’m feeling straight-up horrified. “So uhhh...Mr. Mage. He--never paid you for the job?”

“Got my deposit and nothing else.” He spits again into the ground. “Gave me the mill space instead. Promised me the patrol would overlook me being here. Made good on his word for the most part. But I’ve had to make myself scarce the last few months, what with the engineer folks coming in and taking measurements and all for the renovation. He managed to shuffle around a few permits, get some paperwork lost in the process for me, though, to delay the inevitable. Don’t ask me where I’m going to go next. Already had a meeting with him tryna figure it all out.” 

That must have been the night I overheard them talking in Davy’s office, I realize. 

“Have you considered retirement, sir? I mean, certainly you’ve earned it by now.” Shepard is so sincere I find myself wishing this man a pleasant second act. “Don’t suppose you--have a backup plan? In case Mr. Mage would happen to--” Shepard winds his hand through the air, “oh, I don’t know...get ensnared in his own net?”

“Why? Besides you,” he gestures at Shepard, “and this quiet fella here I quite like the looks of,” he points to me and I open my eyes wide, in surprise, “who else knows about the Tunnel job?”

“Oh, well, I mean--” Shepard stammers uncharacteristically.

“Does the mayor know?” The man inches closer to Shepard.

“So, about that--” he holds his hands up in front of himself protectively. 

“Mr. H.!” I shout, my hands balled into fists at my side. I have to intervene - there’s no way I’m letting Shepard get hurt. This is my fault, and I’ve come to finish what I started. 

“Sir. Look,” I start again more quietly. “We mean no harm. We’re not here on behalf of Mr. Mage. We’re trying to -- to put him in his place. To take him down, and we just need confirmation that he caused Natasha Pitch’s death, directly or uh, indirectly, I guess. We mean no harm,” I say again (although I can’t believe I’m seriously trying to help the man responsible for killing Baz’s mom get off for his horrendous involvement). “We’re just trying to help the mayor out, yeah? Make things right.”

“There’s wheels upon wheels and fires within fires here, boy. Are you sure you really want to step into the flames?” he says menacingly to me. 

“If it means that the truth comes out, then yes,” I say confidently, squaring my shoulders. “David Mage can’t be the next mayor. He can’t work for this city. He belongs in jail. He did you wrong, he did the mayor wrong, he did Natasha Pitch wrong, he did--” I stop before saying it, but it comes out anyway. “He did me wrong. We’re here to end it - to end him.”

“So...the hit is for Mage?” he asks as he squints his eyes at us, clearly confused now by our intentions. 

“Oh! No, no, sir. We don’t want him dead. Just in federal prison,” Shepard jumps in. 

The man takes a step back and considers us, spitting again. 

“The Mage has plans. Plans for Watford. Plans for the mayor,” he says.

“We know that -- wait, _ the _ Mage?” says Shepard, and the same time I say, “Plans? What plans?”

“Just a little nick-name I thought of,” he says proudly. “But yeah. Yes.”

“Well, he’s running for mayor, so--”

“He don’t want to be mayor. Just wants the mayor’s job.”

“That--that really doesn’t make any sense,” I say, my hand running through my hair, exasperated with Mr. Humdrum’s confusing explanation. “I mean, how can he do the mayor’s job if he isn’t elected?”

The man tuts at me like I’m a child. “Charter. It calls for emergency orders. If the mayor were to be...incapacitated? All decision-making goes exclusively to--”

“The city administrator,” I say, stunned. I can’t believe I never saw it. All the time Davy had me going through the city charter, line by line. He wasn’t looking for a more efficient way to pass a budget; he was looking for a backdoor to the top office without having to ever get democratically elected. 

“All right. Look. Here’s what we’ll do. You want Mage to go down, but I ain’t going with him, right? We had a business deal and he reneged - that’s all it was, you understand. Just business - nothing personal. You hear? I had no grudge against Natasha Pitch. Thought she woulda made a fine mayor, honestly.” He stops a moment, tilting his head up as if pondering the idea of a Mayor Natasha Pitch. “But I’ll tell you this.” He looks back at us. “She was a politician, through and through. And I don’t take jobs that make hits on honest people. I know she wasn’t honest. Just so you know.” 

My stomach feels queasy, knowing Baz is listening to everything he’s saying, coldly and callously cataloguing his mother’s death as just another job, a consequence of notoriety, scandal, or unscrupulous dealings. As if it were deserved. 

He sighs and continues. “So let me give you a hot tip. Still don’t know where you two came from,” Shepard and I look at each other, then back at him, “or who you’re working for, but say it’s all going to happen like you say. You must have something else up your sleeve to pull Mage down with. Imagine I must be your figurative nail in the coffin?”

“Oh well--yeah, I guess you are? I mean, we just wanted to check. That, you know. Mage did this. Had Natasha Pitch killed.”

“No love lost on that bastard, I can tell you that.” He lets out a big sigh, and continues. “The mayor - you know him? Personally, I mean? Or you just doing this to nail the Mage?”

I blush, look over at Shepard, then down at my feet. “Oh well--yes, we do. Know the mayor. And want to nail Mage. So both.”

“Good. Tell the mayor Lieutenant Mack’s been sniffing around where he ain’t wanted. And that unlike me, he’s not quite as particular when it comes to his targets.” He spits on the ground again. “Catch my drift, you two?”

My eyes widen. Is Baz in danger? “Is he--? Is the mayor--? Will he--” I’m not even sure what to ask, the words clenching in my throat. 

“Just you mind him. I’ll leave it at that.”

“Okay, so--what do we do now?” Shepard asks.

“We? We--” he gestures between himself and Shepard and me “--are not a thing. I, on the other hand, am fucking off to somewhere warm with my wife. Was thinking of an early retirement anyway. Seeing Mage go down can be my going away present,” he laughs. “Thanks a lot for that, fellas.” 

He turns to walk back across the mill, when Shepard suddenly says, “Wait! I need to know - how’d you get your car off the police report anyway? For the uh, accident?”

The man turns around and looks at Shepard with narrow eyes now. “How’d you know about that? Thought Mack had it scrubbed.” I smile at the slip of his reveal.

Shepard puffs his chest out. “We have our ways.”

“Who  _ are _ you two, anyway?” he asks us.

“Just call us Mystery, Inc., Mr. H.” Shepard grins. 

“You got it, fellas.” He chuckles, gives us a salute, then walks across the mill floor back to his door in the corner, slipping back into the darkness he came from. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, so, no Baz outfits this fic, BUT! If you live in the Northeast of the United States, the mills described in this fic may be very familiar to you. Across many states in this area, mills are in various states of reuse or disrepair, depending on how innovative the mill city is. I'm fortunate to live in an area where many mills have come back to life as beautiful spaces for art, shopping, and other businesses (even an indoor park!). But, I also live on a river with two abandoned mills just a few miles on either side of me. 
> 
> For reference, here are [some pics](http://www.nonotuck.us/kens/Holyoke_Paper_Mills/) of some mills in their heyday. And, [here's an example](https://eastworks.com/) of a local mill that has been completely rehabbed - this is what Baz is trying to do along the West River mill district.


	14. Coffee Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That moment when you think your boyfriend might be dead but like, he's fine; hands off the espresso machine; smoothies should really be consumed immediately; and, proper etiquette for passing off sensitive information: a primer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I am so excited to start posting these wrap-up chapters! It took me a good, long time to figure out where and how this little story was going to end. Just a little more excitement to go. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thanks as always to TheyIs for beta reading this monster chapter that became two and encouragement when it's needed most.

**BAZ**

I sit in stunned silence. Simon’s phone must have died as he was leaving the meeting because he never got on the phone to tell me he was safely out of there like we planned. I’m bent over, my elbows on my knees, breathing hard and rocking back and forth.

We found him - the man responsible for my mother’s death.

We let him go - the man responsible for my mother’s death. 

It’s so entirely unfair, like a presidential pardon in the last 12 hours of a despicable politician’s term in office. 

“I don’t take jobs that make hits on honest people,” he had said. That’s my mother - she wasn’t an honest person. With my father, with me, with the public that would have elected her, welcomed her as their mayor with open arms without really knowing anything about her at all. 

I think this is what you get when you start digging around for ghosts. 

I stand up so fast I startle Penny, Niall, and Dev. I must have a mad glint in my eyes, because they look at me with concern, biting their lips. 

“Baz,” Dev says, breaking the tension. “Baz - you know we could still go after him. If we left now. Maybe Minos--”

“No,” I shake my head. “No. It’s time to move on. I--I have to--” I pat my pockets down, looking for my City Hall keys. “I need to go to the office. Now.” I move to the door, grabbing my coat from the closet and shrugging it on. I don’t even know where I’m going. “I need to talk to Possibelf. I need to--” I feel many hands on my back. Dev, Niall, Bunce, all gently pulling at me. I turn to face them.

“Baz--I know - I  _ know _ .” He embraces me in a massive hug, his hands coming up to the back of my neck and pulling me down. I huff into his shoulder, then let this comfort he gives take me over and absorb into me. 

I think it’s okay.

We are so, so close to the end. 

After getting myself together, I tell them to leave for the night - it’s nearly the next day, after all. For the first time in my entire term, I don’t think I’ll be in the office before noon. I tell Dev and Niall to take the day off, even though Dev insisted that he’s coming in later to make some calls to get the profile of the new dam project finalized (of course he did it in less than a week, the infuriating genius). I shoot Keris a quick text and ask her to take over the main desk for Niall in the morning and reschedule any morning meetings for later in the day or next week.

“Bunce, I’ll stay up to wait for Shepard and Simon and send them on their way once they arrive safely, if you want to go home and get a head start on some sleep.” 

But she refuses to budge.

“I'm not going anywhere until I see them with my own two eyes, Basil,” she says, standing her ground. 

Penelope Bunce is a fierce friend and ally (and her computer skills are beyond admirable), I’ve never minded saying it. 

Dev and Niall leave only after I reassured them I’d send them a text once Simon and Shepard returned. 

Bunce and I try to relax on the sofa, but we’re too jittery to even close our eyes. 

“Hey, you okay? Bunce asks, elbowing me in the side. “Tonight was -- a lot.” 

I look at her sideways, too weary to raise my head up from where it’s collapsed on the back of the sofa. “I don’t know. Was it more than any of the other nights we’ve had this week?” I scrub a hand across my face and tilt it back up, staring at the ceiling. 

Bunce’s phone vibrates and she looks down at her screen, checking it quickly. “It’s Shepard! He and Simon are fine - they’re on their way back here now!”

“Oh, thank fuck!” I cry. And then, I _ cry _ . Tears. For the first time in a while - maybe even since my mother’s funeral. Bunce scoots closer to me on the sofa, tentatively giving my shoulder a little  “there, there” tap.

“Basil - hey. They’re fine. We’re fine - more than fine. We’ve got everything we need now. Shep and I are downloading everything onto a thumb drive for you to drop off to Possibelf. We recorded the call - I’ll get that downloaded too in a jiffy and add it to the files. We did it!” She squeezes my shoulder, more sure this time.

“Bunce, I--I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. For Watford. Remind me to give you a medal of freedom for your patriotic duty.”

She snorts. “Don’t think you have that much power - even if you are the mayor.”

“Shame. I’d be tops at giving out medals.” I smile at her, and we sink into the sofa cushions, almost letting sleep catch us. We both jerk up nearly 10 minutes later, though, when we hear a buzz at the door.

“They’re here!” I practically lunge at the door, flinging it open at the same time I press the buzzer to let them up. I hear their footsteps as they walk out of the lift before I see them. Then, around the corner they come, bronze curls bouncing on Simon’s head, even this late in the night, and the light from the hall glinting off Shepard’s glasses. 

When Simon sees me, he throws me a million megawatt smile that I swear just liquified my insides. I run past the threshold, folding myself over him like a human blanket. I want to smother him, feel him, keep touching him until I’ve assured myself that he’s really here, that he really came back and he’s safe.

“Oh, thank God,” I whisper in his ear. He circles his arms around my waist, pulling me even closer. I don’t care who sees; I don’t care that I’ve probably pissed off all my neighbors and woken them up. I only care that he’s here.

“Hey, look. I’m all in one piece,” he tries to reassure me. I squeeze him tighter, shaking my head, clinging to him like a floatation device.

“Baz. Baz. Look at me. Look. At. Me.” I loosen my grip enough to look into his eyes. He smiles, then brushes a strand of hair off my face. “I’m good. We’re really, really good now. Okay?”

I nod. 

“Oh! Wait, are you two…?” Bunce squints her eyes at us from the doorway. “Oooookay. Okay. I get it now,” she nods, realization finally dawning on her. Shepard just shakes his head at her. 

“Are you seriously just figuring this out now, Penelope? I’ve only known Baz for like a week and I could already tell they were a thing!” says Shepard, gesturing at us. “I mean - look at them!” 

“Oh, yeah. Sorry Pen. I meant to tell you before, but it happened kinda fast? Baz is my boyfriend now,” says Simon. He looks at me, looking for assurance that it’s okay to reveal our secret (a little late now, Snow). I nod in assent, then firmly grasp his hand, looking at Bunce as we come back inside the flat.

“That’s right, Bunce. I’m dating my political rival’s protege; fortunately, he will soon be out of a job and will have no conflicts of interest,” I sniff, feeling a sliver of my usual snarky self return. 

Bunce and Shepard leave (Bunce only gives me the side-eye once when she realizes Simon isn’t going home with her), assuring us they’ll start downloading all of the files - accident reports (the official and unofficial ones), Salisbury’s documents, Mage’s files, the phone recordings - first thing in the morning  (which, considering we’re all going to bed at nearly the break of dawn, will probably be about midday).

I close the door quietly after seeing them out, and turn around to look for Simon. I figured he'd be passed out on the couch, but I find him in the kitchen, leaning over the counter, his hands shoved in a chip bag, eating mindlessly. I sidle up behind him and wrap my arms around him, resting my head on one of his broad shoulders. 

“I wasn’t scared.”

“Hmmm?” I murmur into his back, placing gentle kisses there. I feel his muscles tense and flex slightly under my lips. 

He turns around in my arms, and I’m suddenly blocking him against the counter. It would be an incredibly arousing position if we weren’t both so exhausted. 

He leans his forehead against mine and nearly whispers, “I wasn’t scared. Because I knew it was the right thing to do. It’s easy to do the right thing.”

I shake my head. “No, Simon. It isn’t. It isn’t easy to do the right thing - not for most people.”

“I’m not most people.”

“Thank fuck for that. I hate most people.”

He smiles and tenderly strokes my cheek, kissing me gently before breaking us apart and taking my hand. He guides us across the floor, down the hall, to the stairs, to the bed. 

When we get to the landing at the top of the steps, he pulls me within his reach so he can unbutton my shirt for me. It’s tender, not sexual, but my heart and my insides are combusting all the same for him. I close my eyes, letting the movement of his graceless fingers sweep me away. 

We finish undressing, Simon stripping down to his boxers, me slipping into a long, loose t-shirt. We collapse into bed and pull the duvet up around us, sinking into the fluff of the down and each other like a sigh, and drift off to sleep. 

__________________________

I’m disoriented when I finally wake up. I roll over, squinting from the too-bright light, to check the time on my clock and find that it’s nearly 11:00. Even though I love a good lie in, it’s rare that I’ll see this time, this brightness, on a weekday. I panic internally for a moment before remembering why I’m still in bed, then panic some more because today may be the day that this all comes to a close.

Bunce promised she’d meet me later to drop off the thumb drive with all the files (I didn’t want her coming directly to City Hall) so I could deliver it directly to Possibelf. My hand opens and closes at the thought that everything we’ll need to finally see the end of Mage will be right there in my palm.

I roll back over to look at Simon and smile. His hair is sticking straight up, a riot of messy curls rubbed wild overnight. His mouth is hanging open (mouth breather). I poke him a little on his full bottom lip, then begin petting down his hair to get him to stir. He grunts as his eyes flutter open; the morning light makes them electric blue.

“Hey you,” he croaks out. “What time is it?”

“Almost 11. Are you going into work today?” 

“Yeah. Have to. Wouldn’t want to miss Davy being hauled out of his office in handcuffs,” he grins as he stretches his ridiculous arms out over the duvet and kicks the covers off him as he goes, revealing the full glory of his bare torso. He wraps one muscled leg around me, managing to yank me closer in one sweep. I yelp as he pulls me in even closer for a kiss, then melt into him. He’s still warm from sleep (always so warm). 

I wonder if I’ll ever burn from all his heat. 

I pull away for a moment. “You know he won’t be arrested today, right? That the commissioner will have to set up a committee to investigate all parties involved, decide whether they’re going to pursue a civil or criminal case, and likely --”

I’m cut off with his mouth. 

“Hush. I’d rather make out and indulge in my fantasies of a dramatic scene outside of Davy’s office,” he says as his lips depart mine. 

“Mmmm. What was that? I didn’t quite hear you the first time. Say it again.” I know I’m being a brat, but I know he loves it. 

On cue, he grants me one more kiss before springing out of bed and shimmying back into his pants and shirt from yesterday. He comes back over and sits on the side of the bed.

“Gotta run home and change but ahhh--I’ll see you later? At work? After you--and we can--? But maybe we could go toge--” 

I reach up, catching his chin in my hand and shaking my head. “No. Let me meet Bunce alone. I don’t want you leaving the building with me. It’ll look too out of the ordinary. I’ll text you once I’ve dropped the drive off to Possibelf, all right?” 

He nods, then bends down to give me a soft kiss. “Right away. No dilly-dallying.”

“Dilly-dallying? Are you 80, Snow?”

“Hey! Ebb says that all the time to me. But honestly, after this week, I feel like I am,” he laughs.

“Well, you’ve aged flawlessly. Make yourself a coffee for the road.”

“Can I use the Oracle?” The Oracle is my baby, and even though it can’t compete with a proper Italian espresso machine, I made it very clear to Simon after our first morning together that it is absolutely off-limits.

“I told you - not until you’ve earned your barista certification, Snow. You may touch the Nespresso for now. Stick around long enough and I’ll let you graduate to the aeropress.”

He presses a kiss into the side of my matted-down bedhead. “Oh, don’t worry - I’ll get to all of your coffee contraptions eventually,” he says, my heart constricting. 

__________________________

I’m back in the office just before noon. Thank god for Keris - she’s already rescheduled all my afternoon appointments for me on top of cancelling any morning meetings (except for the one with Fiona at 4:00, which is obviously inevitable). Although Keris usually works in the economic development office alongside Dev, she’s a bit of a pinch hitter for many of us around the office, remarkably efficient in completing any job we ask of her. 

“They were all meetings that could’ve been emails anyway,” she says smiling. I could hug her, but instead I offer to make her a coffee, thanking her for taking over for Niall today. 

“No thanks - got my green smoothie right here!” She gestures at some disgusting concoction that may have once been green but has now turned an unappetizing shade of brown. “Could make one for you if you like?”

“Oh, err--no. No thank you, Keris. I’ll be fine with my coffee.”

“Right. Day should be nice and quiet for you. Catch up day. Then the weekend!” 

“Yes, except for when Fiona comes in, of course,” I say, rolling my eyes. I know it’s time to talk, but I am not looking forward to explaining everything to her. She is going to be furious - at me, at Mage, at Salisbury. At her sister. 

I thank Keris again, grateful she doesn’t ask me why I’m coming in so late, or why Dev and Niall are also suspiciously absent, then head into my office.

As soon as I’ve sat down at my desk my phone buzzes. I smile, expecting it to be Simon, but see that it’s from Bunce.

**Bunce:** Walk down to The Black Goat at 2:30 to get a coffee, then walk down White Street headed towards the water. Meet me at the end of the block.

I don’t see why she can’t just meet me in front of the coffee shop (I suppose because it’s a bit too conspicuous), but I quickly agree, exhaling a massive sigh. I feel -- I don’t know. Nervous? Anxious? Scared? All of these.

The work isn’t complete. I still need to go down to the commissioner’s office, find Possibelf, and safely deposit the evidence into her very capable hands. 

But, I feel lighter. I feel that I’ve done...something, in passing this burden off. 

Something to save us all.

Okay, that’s a bit hyperbolic and self-serving. I’m not here to swing a sword at anyone. And it isn’t time to congratulate myself - ourselves - quite yet. But I can taste it.

Vengeance.

No, not vengeance. 

Victory. 

__________________________

I shrug my coat on at 2:15 and get ready to leave for The Black Goat. Keris doesn’t blink twice (my coffee-drinking habits are well-known amongst my staff). Dev hasn’t shown up yet, I’ve noticed, but I expect he’ll be waltzing in at any moment. I’m just heading down the street; it will be fine. 

I shoot a quick text to Simon to let him know I’m on my way to meet Bunce.

**Simon:** Take Dev with you. Text when you’re back. I want to come up and hug you. 🤗

**_Me:_ ** _ What is that emoji, Snow?  _

**Simon:** It’s a hug - obviously

**_Me:_ ** _ It looks like jazz hands. _

**Simon:** Then they’re jazz hands that will feel you up before they hug you

**_Me:_ ** _ You’re an animal. _

**Simon:** 😈

God, I love him. 

__________________________

The air is crisp. I stroll with one hand in my pocket, the other grasping my paper cup as I turn down White Street. I spot Bunce at the end of the block, waiting for me with her hands on her hips as I take a sip.

“Where’s my coffee, Basil?” she asks, peeved.

“You told me to get a coffee. I got a coffee. Here’s my coffee,” I say, confused.

She huffs at me. “You were supposed to get the coffee for  _ me _ . To give me. So I could hand the drive off to you?” She shakes her head.

“Well, I apologize for not participating in an undercover exchange of information often enough to know the routine, Bunce. Would you care for a sip of my breve, then?”

I extend the cup to her and she looks at it dismissively, then reaches out. As her hand wraps around the cup, I feel the tiny weight settle into my palm. I grasp it, bringing it casually to my coat pocket where I tuck it away inside a miniscule zipper compartment (don’t even ask me what it was designed for - perhaps hiding an engagement ring) as I pull out a napkin to hand to Bunce. 

“Blech! Do you seriously drink these?” She gives the cup back to me, wiping her mouth with my proffered napkin in disgust. 

“Don’t yuck my yum, Bunce,” I sniff at her. “We all have our guilty pleasures.” 

“Guilty is right. That concoction should be illegal. So, are we good then? I’ve got to get back to work.” She gestures at a mill building to the right, one we have already repurposed and recommissioned for business use. 

“Very good. I’ll see you later tonight? How about we celebrate. I’ll bring dinner. Invite Shepard.”

“Of course. See you then.” She waves and quickly dashes off around the corner. As I watch her disappear, I decide I’m going to take a stroll up the waterfront before returning to City Hall. 

Walking along the water has always calmed me - centered me. It’s why I insisted on the flat on the top floor with a view of the river, and why I’m filled with an overwhelming sense of peace when I take a moment to stand up from my desk and walk over to the tall windows, contemplating the force and power of something beyond my control. 

Selfishly, I also like enjoying all the work we’ve put into this section of the riverfront: refurbished mills, a path for biking, jogging, and walking with small parks veering off at certain scenic vistas. In short, life, where before there was none. I always thought this is what my mother had imagined and wanted for Watford. 

But I did this. Because it seems this wasn’t my mother’s dream at all; it was mine. 

I lean against the railing, looking out over the river, then up and down the path as I drink the rest of my coffee. It’s remarkably quiet for a Friday afternoon, but I suppose it is a bit chilly out here this time of the year. 

My thoughts are interrupted when I hear someone come up behind me. I turn abruptly when they grab my wrist, only to see it’s a Watford Police Department officer who must have been on patrol. 

“Oh! Hello,” I say, a bit confused by the physical contact. I try to pull back, but he holds on tighter.

“What are you doing?!” I ask, my voice growing more hysterical. I glance around me, but see no one else. “Get your hands off me! This must be a mistake.  _ Do you know who I am _ ?”

“Mayor Grimm-Pitch,” he growls low in my ear. “I think you’re coming with me.” I feel a hand around my mouth choke back my yell as I’m dragged farther and farther away from the bike path and City Hall. 

We turn down a short side street filled with old mill housing. I look around frantically to see if anyone is here, if anyone has noticed the mayor of their city being dragged around forcefully like a rag doll by a uniformed police officer, but there’s absolutely no one. We stop for just a split second. I’m shoved unceremoniously up some stairs and into what looks like an abandoned row house. I frantically scan my surroundings, trying desperately to figure out where I am. But after that, all I see is black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baz has multiple coffee machines. This is and always will be my headcanon. 
> 
> Simon is only allowed to use the [Nespresso](https://www.nespresso.com/us/en/order/machines/vertuo/vertuo-next-matte-black-aeroccino3-milk-frother-bundle) (because it's just a stupid coffee pod, really). 
> 
> When he's lucky, maybe Baz will let him use the [aeropress](https://www.williams-sonoma.com/products/aeropress-coffee-maker/?catalogId=79&sku=724356&cm_ven=PLA&cm_cat=Google&cm_pla=Electrics%20%3E%20Coffee%20Makers&cm_ite=724356&gclid=Cj0KCQiA34OBBhCcARIsAG32uvPpgojaTQhSaXeJHcdCJZoyY_8jbKXNGOETooVkd17tdlchxfRuRwIaAgMbEALw_wcB) (still pretty dummy-proof - much like a French press).
> 
> But really - it's the [Oracle](https://www.williams-sonoma.com/products/breville-oracle-touch-espresso-machine/?catalogId=79&sku=2048874&cm_ven=PLA&cm_cat=Google&cm_pla=Electrics%20%3E%20Espresso%20Makers&region_id=658780&cm_ite=2048874&gclid=Cj0KCQiA34OBBhCcARIsAG32uvMIE2obknzd87Ia_EynKkKFVu3lMJXwZW-eB2fBhikFfpQAM-G3X6IaAlfwEALw_wcB) that Simon will need a few lessons on before Baz lets his baby touch his baby!


	15. Rescue Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minos is a plan unto himself, unrepentant narcissists, and some ass-whooping. The mayor can take care of himself - how many times does he have to tell you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! This feels like a proper ending to this story, BUT! There will be a fluffy epilogue (or, as my darling Beta says, a "fluffilogue") following shortly. In the meantime, thank you for reading along! And, now to our boys!

**SIMON**

I’m getting worried.

It’s already 3:30 and I haven’t heard from Baz yet. I text Penny to see if she’s already met him and she writes back immediately.

**Pen:** Yes? Simon, we met up like an hour ago.

**Me:** He hasn’t answered *any* of my texts. He said he'd text when he got back to the office.

**Pen:** SIMON!!!!! Get up there and see if he’s okay!

I don’t even wait to write back. I’m dashing out of my office, sprinting for the lift doors in the main lobby, smashing the button for floor 25.

As soon as it dings and the doors slide open, I’m storming into the foyer. I rush over to Niall’s desk, where Keris is sipping on something that looks less than appetizing. 

“Where is he?” I lean over her, shouting. She looks taken aback. 

“Simon Snow, get out of my face! What are you yelling about?” she screams back at me. 

“Where. The fuck. Is Baz?” I pant.

Dev comes out of his office at the commotion. Then, the positively last person I want to see, Fiona Pitch, strolls out of Baz’s office. I roll my eyes in a huff. I have no time to explain everything to her right now.

“Ah - Simon Snow. Mage’s golden boy. What’s all this fuss about, then?” she raises the hereditary eyebrow at me, baring her fangs.

“Baz met with Penny an hour ago and he isn’t back yet. Dev!” I turn my fury to face him. “What the fuck were you thinking, letting him leave the office alone?!” 

"Hey, you knew he was walking out of the building to meet Bunce, too, don’t pin this on me! He left before I even got into the office!” 

“What’s going on, you two? Who the fuck is Penny?” Fiona asks, confused. 

“Fiona! Ahh, Ms. Pitch. Ma’am, I--look. It’s kind of a long story, but Baz might be in trouble and we have to find him.”

“Trouble? What kind of trouble? Is Penny like, a drug dealer?”

“Huh? No, she’s my roommate. But she had to give something to Baz, something very important, and now he’s not back or answering any of my texts, and the Humdrum said to watch out for Lieutenant Mack, and now he’s not here!” I yell, pulling at my hair.

Dev comes over to me and attempts to calm me down. “Okay. Okay. Let’s just--let’s try Baz’s phone again. Maybe call him this time?” he says, nodding. 

I nod back, breathing deeply. Fiona is still glaring at me, but her stare begins to transform into something else I know all too well at the moment - worry.

Dev raises his phone to his ear. “It’s ringing,” he says. “Better than going straight to voicemail.” He pauses again, listening carefully. His brows begin to furrow in the middle, then his whole face squints up in confusion as he hangs up.

“Okay, I’m really not sure what I just heard but--is it possible Baz is--kicking someone’s ass?”

“Well, he could have gone to the Junior Olympics for Karate. He’s an 8th dan blackbelt,” says Fiona. “You know that, Dev.”

“Well, yeah, but he hasn’t trained or fought in ages,” he shakes his head.

“Look, I’d really like to hear about Baz’s Olympic training regimen and all, but not now!” I shout. “Dev, you and I are paying Davy a visit. Fiona,” I stop. I realize she still has absolutely no idea what’s going on. “Can you just keep calling Baz, please? See if he answers? Try to find out where he is and call Dev right away if you find out, yeah?”

To her credit, she just nods her head at me.

Well, that could’ve gone a lot worse. 

I practically sprint out of the lift when we get back down to the 12th floor, dragging Dev behind me. I’m not sure why I know that Minos has an earlier shift tonight, but I do, so I text him to come meet me outside the council chambers.

We pause for a moment. Dev looks at me while we wait. “So--what’s your plan, Snow?”

Minos comes around the corner, a huge grin on his face. I point down the hallway.

“Him. He’s my plan. C’mon, follow me.”

We speed walk down the hallway, stopping in front of Davy’s office. The wooden door is half-open and I hear him inside, shuffling around papers. I throw the door open all the way with my arm; Minos and Dev are positioned right behind me.

Davy looks up, startled at the sight before him, all of us crowded into the doorframe.

“Simon! There you are! What is all this?” he says, a laugh in his voice. Then, we stare at each other a moment, my glare burning into him, and I see his small smile start to melt.

“Where is he, sir?” I ask. I hate that my voice is trembling and that even now, I can’t bear to call him by his first name out of some misplaced respect he doesn’t deserve and hasn’t earned. 

“Who, Simon? What is the meaning of this?” He stands up abruptly, knocking some of the papers off his desk.

“We know. We already know everything already. Salisbury, Natasha Pitch, Humdrum. So, unless you want to add attempted kidnapping to your list of charges, you better tell me where the _fuck_ you took Baz and make sure no one is hurting him!” I spit out.

"I’m sure I don’t know what you--”

Minos steps up behind me as Davy starts to sputter out an excuse, another lie. He tries to step back, but Minos reaches out around me and grabs his collar, pulling him in closer towards me. 

“He--I--he’s fine! He’s fine, Simon, he--” He’s panting, frantic. His eyes are darting all over the room now, looking for a way out.

“ _WHERE IS HE?_ ” I roar. 

“34 East Cobble Street. Right off the riverwalk.”

I lean back, then look at Minos. “Don’t let him go anywhere. I’ll be back for you,” I say, pointing at Davy. 

He flinches in terror. Good. 

Minos nods, then turns to Davy with a sly smile. “Hope you didn’t have any plans this afternoon, Mr. Mage,” he says wickedly. 

When Dev and I leave the office, Minos kicks the door shut behind us.

______________________________

Dev and I run/walk down to the street where Davy says Baz is being held. It’s only a few blocks away from City Hall, but it feels like miles. When we get there, the road is blocked off with police cars on either end. That can’t be good.

We rush around the blockade of cars, ignoring the officers as they yell after us. There’s a huddle of them at the bottom of the stoop of one of the rowhouses. I look up - number 34. Elbowing my way to the edge of the circle, I see him -- looking cool as ever, one hand gesturing around as he explains something to the officers standing around him, the other tucked securely in his pocket. He only has a few wisps of hair out of place. 

It looks like he’s explaining the weather, or the history of row house construction in the 1860s -- something mundane. Commissioner Possibelf’s face, however, is contorting and changing with every detail of Baz’s explanation. 

I stop a minute to just listen to his voice. I bend over, hands on my knees, and breathe deeply. I feel like I just sprinted 5 laps around a track. Dev comes up behind me and slaps me on the back a couple of times affectionately.

“Well, he did say he could take care of himself, didn’t he?” he says in wonder, laughing a bit as he says it. “Not a hair out of place, the graceful fuck.” 

I look over at him and smile. Then, he extends his fist to me. I bump it awkwardly, but it feels good, like I’ve passed a test I didn’t even know I had to take. 

Everything feels good right now, because Baz is safe. 

Baz is safe. _Breathe in_.

Baz is safe. _Breathe out_. 

I look into the circle again, then over to some of the police cars. There are two police officers sitting in the back of one of the squad cars. They don’t look particularly happy or comfortable. (Good.) I wonder if one of them is Lieutenant Mack.

Honestly, I guess I don’t really care right now, because Baz is standing right there. And I’ve been standing by long enough. 

I bust my way through the circle of many grumbling officers. “Hey! You can’t be here!” one of them yells as he grabs me by the back of my shirt. 

“Hands off, hands off! I’m trying to get to the mayor!” I yell, putting my hands in front of me defensively.

“The mayor’s fine. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Like hell it doesn’t!” I begin to feel my voice and temper raising, my fists balling up. Baz looks over at the commotion and makes eye contact with me, smirking (smirking! As I’m being manhandled by a fucking cop!). 

“That’ll do, Reynolds. He can come through. Him, too.” He gestures over me to Dev.

I don’t wait to be told twice. As soon as I’m let go I dash to him, grabbing him like he grabbed me last night, no concern over who sees us now. He raises his hand to the back of my head, gingerly fingering the nape of my neck. 

“It’s over, Snow,” he whispers in my ear. 

“Did you kick someone’s ass, Baz? Dev says it sounded like you were kicking someone’s ass.”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “I did say not to fuss over me. I meant it when I said I could handle myself - especially against some out of shape police officers.”

“I’ll always fuss over you. I love you.” It escapes without meaning to, but it doesn’t matter now.

“I love you too, Simon,” he says smiling, like saying those words is the most ordinary thing in the world.

I suppose, really, of all the extraordinary things that have happened over the last week or so, it probably is. 

“Ah, Mayor Grimm-Pitch, may I speak with Mr. Snow for a moment?” Commissioner Possibelf asks. He nods, and she looks me square in the face.

“Mr. Snow, I’m going to need you to come down to the police department headquarters and give a deposition attesting to what you’ve heard and seen. Do you need an attorney?”

I look at her, surprised. “No, I--I don’t think so. I mean, did I do something illegal?”

"Probably not - never hurts to lawyer up, though. You are very close to David Mage, are you not?”

“Yeah. Yes. I mean, I was.”

“That’s all right - stop in when you return to City Hall and see Rhys - we’ll get you all set up with an appointment. Sooner the better.” She pats me on the shoulder before turning back to Baz and holding out her hand. “I believe you have something for me?”

He finally removes his hand from his pocket, revealing in it the tiny thumb drive from Penny and Shepard. He gingerly places it into Possibelf’s outstretched palm, then steps back and sighs heavily. 

I grab his hand, filling in the empty space, and give it a squeeze.

“Alright. Reynolds - go find Mage. He’s probably holed up in his office,” Possibelf tells one of the officers.

I exchange a look with Dev, who nods, then clear my throat to get her attention. She turns to me, probably wanting to be quite finished with me for now.

“Ahh, ma’am, well, yes, Mr. Mage is in his office, but ahh--we may have possibly trapped him in there with one of the guards?”

“Excuse me?” Possibelf and Baz are both staring at me now, eyes wide, waiting for my explanation.

“Well, we were looking for Ba-Mayor Grimm-Pitch, because he was missing, and figured he would know where he was taken and, well, we needed backup. And to make sure he wasn’t going to run away! So, yeah,” I finish, rubbing the back of my head.

Baz smiles, then leans in and kisses my hair. “Oh my god, Snow. You are precious, love.”

I blush a little bit, not really knowing what else to say to defend myself, but revelling in Baz’s easy affection. 

Possibelf just shakes her head. “Well, Mr. Snow. In that case - lead the way.”

______________________________

And just like that, I’m back on the 12th floor of City Hall, this time with a posse of police officers (a posse of Possibelf police?) behind me. 

We pause in front of Davy’s office door, and I turn around to look at everyone. 

“Could you ahh--could you give us a minute? Before you all go in there?”

Possibelf nods. I knock on the door. “Minos, it’s Simon. We’re back. With back-up.”

He creaks open the door a crack, then all the way once he sees who’s waiting on the other side.

“About time. Ma’am,” he nods at Possibelf. He steps outside the door into the crowd of officers. “Oh, am I going to enjoy this,” he says, a grin cracking his face as he rubs his palms together in anticipation.

I nod at Possibelf and step inside Davy’s office, closing the door slightly behind me. He’s sitting at his desk. He doesn’t look good. He’s nervously tapping a finger on the arm of his desk chair, staring down at the desk, refusing to make eye contact with me.

“First of all, do you realize how profoundly fucked up it is that you literally had someone murdered and the police are letting us have alone time before they arrest you?” I say, just jumping right in. 

“I’m owed at least that,” he mumbles.

“No one owes you shit - least of all me. You are seriously the worst progressive ever if you don't even recognize your privilege.”

He rolls his eyes at me.

“I guess -- I just don’t understand. All the time we’ve known each other -- all the things you said and though-taught me. Were any of them even true? Did you believe anything you told me - even a little of it?”

He finally looks up at me, shame pooling in his eyes, then averts his eyes again. “I--Simon, my boy, I--”

“I am not _your boy_. Don’t you dare--don’t you dare--” I surprise myself by choking up a little bit. Davy deserves everything coming to him, and more. 

“You were my mentor. I trusted you. You didn’t just betray me -- you betrayed the university. You betrayed this entire city. You betrayed -- I think you even betrayed yourself.”

He’s shaking his head. “You don’t understand, Simon.”

“Explain it to me, then.”

He looks me straight in the eye this time. “You want to discuss privilege? _Privilege!_ Who is running this city? Do you think, even for a second, that any mayor of Watford - past or present - cared like I care about the average citizen? Did they care when they razed affordable housing in the name of revitalization? Did they care when they slashed the school budgets and invested in charter schools instead of infrastructure and professional development? No. Because they themselves never needed those services. But you and I - we did. We understood - we _understand_. No one was going to line my nest egg for me - I had to do it myself. And if it meant taking what was mine from those who never had to work a day in their lives to earn what they had, then so be it,” he snarls at me. 

He’s glaring at me with righteous indignation. I hate that even now, he’s right about so, so much. 

But the rights can’t possibly overtake the many wrongs. 

“You knew. About me. My family. Where I came from,” I continue. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” I ask. It’s my last question. I’ve heard all I need to hear - he’ll always believe his behavior was justified, in the end. Men like him never learn their lesson.

“Would it have mattered?” he asks sincerely. 

“Yes. No. I don’t know. Probably not. But it wasn’t right, sir. It’s like I was orphaned twice - once by the Salisburys, then once by you.”

He dips his head in shame. 

I have nothing more to say, so I open the door the rest of the way and walk out, past the crowd of police officers, past Minos, who pats me appreciatively on the arm as I walk by him. 

Turns out I don’t want to wait around to see him arrested and hauled out of his office like I thought I did. The thought is making me kind of queasy. 

Where do I go now? What do I do? 

The only answer is up. 

I walk back to the lifts, pressing the button to the 25th floor. I close my eyes as I ride up, trying to shake away the last images of Davy from my mind to clear my head.

When the lift arrives, I go straight to Baz’s office. Fiona, Dev, and Baz are all huddled in there talking, explaining, as a dark, saddened look flits over Fiona’s face. I hang back listening for a moment, hovering in the doorway. 

Baz looks up and sees me. I give a weak smile and a short, tiny wave. He walks straight over, giving me a peck on the cheek.

“Hi, love,” he says low, just for me, rubbing my arms up and down. “Just sorting it all out with Fiona. Want to come in?”

I glance over Baz’s shoulder to Dev and Fiona, who have stopped talking and instead are staring at us. 

“Uhhh...I don’t know if I--”

“Snow, kindly get your ass in here. We need to hear your side of the story, too,” says Dev.

“Yes, Snow. And anyway, now that you’re in bed with my nephew we need to get to know each other a little better. Come! Sit, sit,” she says, patting the chair next to me. 

I look into Baz’s face for direction, but he’s just smiling, amused. 

“Don’t worry, she only bites a little,” he says, and squeezes my hand.

I follow him inside, sit down, and begin talking. 


	16. Fluffilogue Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A swearing in, bad dance form, fresh starts and empty columns, and true first dates. The holding of hands is strongly encouraged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 139 days. 44 emails. 213 exchanges. Unlimited wisdom and patience. I don't even know how to thank [TheyIs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyIs/pseuds/TheyIs) for all their encouragement, cheerleading, love, friendship, banter, deep talks, and more over the last four months of this fic. It felt impossible, but you made it possible. 
> 
> I am an English teacher; I never truly understood until now what I tell my students: writing is a process, sharing writing is powerful, and letting someone help you only makes your writing stronger. I get it now, kids. 
> 
> And thank you for sticking around for this long haul story. I am humbled by and grateful for your readership.

**SIMON**

It may be possible that Baz only decided to get into politics for the many excuses he’d have to get dressed up in a suit. I mean, Baz looks good in absolutely everything (and in absolutely nothing, for that matter), but Baz in a suit is like, next-level Baz. 

I walk up behind him as he’s fixing his tie in the full-length mirror in his dressing room (yes, he has an entire room just filled with his clothes - though to be fair, there aren’t any closets up in his loft bedroom). He’s gone simple yet elegant for the occasion - monochrome black-on-black and an extra-shiny black tie with some kind of brass tie clip on it. Not a floral to be seen anywhere. 

It makes him look dark and dangerous, all long lines and sharp angles. 

But I know better. 

“Like what you see, Snow?” He looks up and meets my eyes in the reflection of the mirror, quirking up an eyebrow but never stilling his fingers as he adjusts his tie.

I continue until my hands reach his hips from behind. They begin to wander up and under his suit jacket - until they’re unceremoniously slapped away. 

“Snow! Are you crazy? I won’t have time to steam this suit before the ceremony. Hands off!” He fusses with the hem of his suit jacket. 

Ignoring him, I spin him around and put my arms up on his shoulders. “Baz, I don’t know how to tell you this, but no one cares if your suit has a little wrinkle in it.” 

“This is a Tom Ford suit, Snow. I care enough for all of us.”

“Don’t know who that is.” I kiss him right under his jaw. “Don’t care - ‘cept he makes you look really fucking hot.” I move one hand down to touch his stomach when I’m slapped away again. 

“Later, Snow. We’re going to be late. Are you ready?” He looks me over appraisingly, smoothing down the shoulders of my midnight blue suit, then reaches up to play with my hair a little. He got me all this styling stuff because “those curls deserve so much better than what you’re giving them now, Snow,” and damn if he was right - my hair twirls and fluffs and falls in all the right places now. 

If anyone had told me that I’d one day let Baz Grimm-Pitch dress me up and do my hair, I’d have told them they’re an alien.

If anyone had told me two months ago I’d soon be getting slapped away for too much kissing and manhandling of Baz Grimm-Pitch, mayor of Watford, standing in his (our?) home as we got ready to leave for his second mayoral inauguration, together - well, I’d suppose they’d be downright crazy.

And yet here we are, and it feels...like it always should have. Like it always has been. (Like I hope it always will be.)

“Yeah, think so. This is as good as it gets,” I shrug. 

“Hmmm...I’ve seen better.” He raises his eyebrow at me again, slaps me on the bottom, then turns to head down the hallway.

I howl, secretly pleased with his playfulness (I love when he lets go like this just for me), and rush down the hallway to meet him at the door. I slip into my coat, checking the pockets twice. He’s sliding into his winter coat (why it’s tradition to be sworn in outdoors in January is beyond me) and wrapping a plaid scarf around his neck. He looks like he’s going to the Oscars, or Buckingham Palace.

But the steps of City Hall will do just fine for him. 

For the mayor of a mid-sized city, a second inauguration really shouldn’t be that big of a deal, maybe not even one that warrants a public swearing in. But with all the publicity around Baz’s mom and Davy, people are more than a little curious to see him take the oath in person. 

It didn’t take too long after Davy’s arrest for everything to come out in a well-timed story published in Shepard’s newspaper. The charges against Davy now include conspiracy to commit murder, federal tax evasion, and bank fraud. 

Lieutenant Mack and his degenerate cops? Good-bye. Turns out there was already a five-year running FBI corruption probe on that one. Mack was charged with conspiracy and filing false reports. Even had the officers he supervised taking money from suspects they would search as “evidence,” then just went and pocketed it himself, so they got the rest of them on theft and civil rights violations. 

Disgusting. 

Salisbury didn’t fare much better; he was personally charged with racketeering and extortion, while the Salisbury Electric corporation was charged with securities fraud. 

Maybe the little guys can win after all. I mean, if Enron could go down, so can a couple of two-bit utility mismanagers. 

Needless to say, Baz won the election. You’d think with his opponent being in jail and all that no one would have voted for Davy. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from working in politics for my whole adult life, it’s that bad people can and will do their worst when given the opportunity; the bastard somehow still got 25% of the votes. What I wouldn’t give to hunt those idiots down and…

Well. The election was free and fair, in the end, and Baz won. 

Baz won.

I slip my hand into his as we ride the lift downstairs. Once we walk through the lobby and get outside, we’re met with his security detail to escort him to the steps of City Hall, even if it is only a few minutes’ walk. Minos is there with a huge smile on his face. He’s slicked back his hair for the occasion and looks officially terrifying in his long black coat and earpiece. He nods at us as we descend the front steps of the building and I pull away my hand. 

“Good afternoon gentlemen,” he says. “Are we ready to take a walk?” 

“We are indeed, Minos. Ready, Snow?” He looks over at me, and I nod. The group of us begins walking down the sidewalk, Baz and I flanked from all sides. I know Baz hates it, all the fuss and attention (and he’s already proven to all of us that he can take care of himself), but Possibelf didn’t want to take any chances on such an important day.

As we approach the front steps of City Hall, my breath hitches for a moment as I see how many people are already gathered there. Because while they may be there to see some sort of aftermath of our whole spectacle, when it comes right down to it they’re here for Baz.

And fuck if he doesn’t deserve it all.

We walk into City Hall from the side so we can properly make a dramatic entrance through the front doors. When they open, Baz gives me a last glance before walking down the steps; Minos and I trail behind him. 

From up here, I see the new city administrator, Milton Wellbelove, waiting to give the oath of office. I see Fiona, Dev, and Niall there on the steps, too, standing next to Baz’s father (Malcolm Grimm still intimidates the hell out of me, but looks happy to see me there, somehow). I look out beyond the bottom steps and see Penny and Shepard in a cordoned off area for specially invited guests.

Baz reaches the steps and stops in front of Mr. Wellbelove and glances behind him, looking for me. I still can’t believe he asked me to hold his book for him (“Honestly, Snow, who else would do it?”). I glance over at Fiona and think I see the hint of a tear shining in her eyes. I elbow her gently on the way down the steps and she just looks at me and rolls her eyes before smiling a little, quickly swiping away whatever had formed there. 

She can pretend to be as fierce as she likes, but she’ll always be Baz’s proud aunty.

I take my place next to Baz, taking the book from out of my coat pocket. When I joked that Baz would disintegrate on contact when he swore an oath on the Bible, he simply snorted and said, “It’s not the Bible, Snow; you actually get to choose the book you’re sworn in on. It’s my mother’s copy of her favorite book, _Great Expectations_.” He told me it’s about an orphaned boy who comes into money through strange circumstances, but it’s really about the dangers of clinging too tightly to your past, unable to move forward on your own until literal flames release you. Redemption through fire and forgiveness. 

Seems like that story hits a little close to home for both of us. 

The January afternoon sun is bright, the reflection glancing off the top shiny windows of City Hall, making me squint. I can feel the gentle weight of Baz’s palm, nothing but a classic novel between us; I hear Baz’s words as he repeats after Mr. Wellbelove; his voice booms through the microphone, then echoes and disperses over the crowd. 

Beaming - I think I’m beaming. It’s the only word I can think to use to describe how wide my smile is, because I’m _allowed_ to do it this time. I’m not crouched behind Davy, pretending not to watch him when of course I couldn’t look anywhere else. 

No. This time I bask unabashedly, and publicly, in my own pride for him.

The ceremony is over practically before it starts. The crowd erupts in cheers when Baz is done repeating the oath and he’s shaken hands with Mr. Wellbelove. I kiss him on the cheek, then Mr. Grimm, Fiona, Dev, and Niall descend the stairs, embracing him. He turns and waves to the crowd, then walks to the podium for his inaugural speech.

I stand aside and just watch because I already know it by heart; he’s been practicing it in front of me for weeks now. I don’t need to listen to the words to feel how weighty this moment is for him, the assumed responsibility he now has to pull his city out from under the shadows and keep it in the light. 

We’re soon whisked away and separated, Baz to the press room for a brief conference, the rest of us upstairs to the mayoral suite, where the rest of his staff are waiting for him. 

As soon as Baz walks into the foyer, the whole room bursts into applause. He freezes at the sight of us and blushes furiously. Dev shoves two fingers into his mouth, whistling loud enough to momentarily deafen us all while Shepard literally hoots and hollers.

We make a ring around him, his closest circle. Even in the crowd he reaches for me, always for me. 

I think I’ll always be reaching for him, too.

_________________________

I raise my hand to meet his, pulling him closer to me by his waist. We’re dancing across the floor of the ballroom in the mayoral mansion. Well - Baz is dancing. I’m more like shuffling my feet and spinning Baz around every so often so that it vaguely looks like I know what I’m doing. 

“So, you could have moved into this place? Why the hell would you turn it down?” I look up at the painted ceiling and the large chandelier in awe.

“Would have been a bit lonely in this big house all by myself, don’t you think?” Baz responds, looking down at me. 

“I mean - you could like, ride your bike through here. Hire a bunch of people to keep you company. Impress all your dates.”

“I don’t need a big house to impress my dates, Snow,” he smirks. I pinch him on his side and he yelps a teeny bit. I laugh and spin him around. 

“Go on many of those lately?” I tease. “I hear the mayor of Watford is a bit of a local celebrity. A celebrity crush of sorts, even.”

“Mmmmm,” he hums, suddenly switching our position so that he’s leading. “I’ve been a tad bit busy lately, actually.” I feel the vibrations of him thrumming through his chest, the light touch of one strong hand splayed gently under my shoulder, the other folding over mine as he holds it aloft, and it makes me shudder with want.

“Well, I heard the mayor may have himself an admirer of sorts. Some do-gooder liberal wonk. Trying to teach his elite ass a thing or two about the way the world works,” I reply a little breathlessly into his ear. 

“What if I told you I do. And he is.” He pauses, swallows. “And, he has.”

I smile wide at this, sometimes still not ready to hear it, even though I know it’s true. He’s told me a thousand times, impressed it on me in whispers as we move over each other in the dark. “You’ve changed my life, Simon,” again and again, until I can believe it, finally.

**BAZ**

Simon Snow is eating; it’s always a sight to behold. 

His appetite is never-ending and he relishes his food as if it were a last meal proffered to him on death row, the best thing he’s ever tasted. No level of professional status will ever change this. I stare in wonder as he scarfs down the last of his spaghetti and meatballs in the time it’s taken me to eat about half of my carbonara. 

It’s the first weekend since the inauguration that Simon and I both have free; he insisted we come to Marconi’s for dinner. 

“Enjoying the balls, Snow?” I ask as he foists the last meatball into his mouth. He freezes mid-bite, blushing, but then recovers as he finishes chewing.

“Matter of fact, I am,” he says, dabbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “I told you Marconi’s meatballs were the best.”

He leans in closer over the table.

“But I may have to revise that statement a bit now,” he whispers, a devilish look lighting up his face. 

Now it’s my turn to blush. 

This man... 

After feasting on the rest of the basket of bread while I finish up my pasta, we step out into the street, enjoying the evening despite the chilled winter air. 

“Want to go to Dante's for coffee and dessert?” he asks. He grabs my hand as we walk and holds it there between us; it makes my breath hitch for a moment. I usually get just a quick squeeze or a pat; he’ll even walk arm in arm with me like we’re two fine Victorian gentlemen strolling. 

It’s totally ridiculous; he was there holding my mother’s book for me, for heaven’s sake, for everyone to see, told me he loved me inside a circle of police officers. Why he should be embarrassed by hand holding I don’t know, considering all the things he’s said and done with me in public so far, and I’ve never wanted to push him on such a silly thing.

But this time, he’s not letting go. I slow down and look between us.

“Yes, Snow, that would be lovely,” I say, not wanting to shatter whatever magic moment this has created. 

“Is this a date, Baz?”

“What?” I ask, now totally confused.

“No, just--wait. Hear me out. Remember when I said I would wine and dine you? So, you know, I could-- _shower with you_?” Simon asks, lowering his voice at that last part. 

“I think we’re past that. We’ve been on multiple dates, Snow. Including shower dates,” I remind him.

“Yeah, but I don’t feel like they were intentional enough? It was like an ‘I’m hungry, let’s eat’ sort of situation. But not like tonight. Like, we planned this, made reservations, Niall made time in your schedule. You wore a floral shirt--”

“That’s not really unusual, Snow.”

“And a pink suit jacket.”

“Again, Snow…” I really don’t know where he’s going with this. 

“Yeah, but--” He’s pulling at his hair now. He’s working so hard to say something. “I love you, right Baz? And I mean, I know I’ve told you before but like, I said it kind of awkwardly in front of everyone? I didn’t really want it to be like that. The first time.”

My heart clenches, and for a second I think that maybe he regrets this. After all, I did cost him his job (Milton would have taken him on, but the brave idiot decided to go back for his master’s in teaching, just like he planned on doing at university in the first place). 

Things moved very fast for us. It’s only been five months but he’s practically moved into my flat. I even let him use two feet of closet space and emptied two drawers for his personal effects in my dressing room, and if that’s not love, I don’t know what is.

But did we really move fast - any faster than we have been for the last near-decade we’ve known each other? I think things had been moving quickly between us for an awfully long time, like roaming shoals of stars heading for the celestial horizon in parallel lines. And now we’ve finally landed at our destination at the same time. 

“And I told you. That first morning? You’d know it would be a date. Because I’d wine and dine you. And I’d take your hand and walk proudly down the sidewalk with you. And your shirt would be floral. And--”

“I remember the rest.” My mind provides me with the rest of the scenario, filled in with recent memories of being frantically unbuttoned out of my shirt, my belt and trousers discarded in a puddle on the floor of the hallway as I’m hauled upstairs, my legs clamped around Simon’s waist-- 

“So. It’s a date. A time just for me and you. Just ahhh...wanted to remind you.” He nods as if he’s just said something that had been bothering him.

Although why I can’t say - his confidence behind closed doors is clearly astonishing. But starting over isn’t easy. Trusting in the learning process, finding out there are people there to teach him who mean what they say, do what they say, is slow in coming back to him. It hurts my heart to see the glacial pace of reassembly as he tries to fit so many new storylines into the chapters of his life - me included. 

But my lovely boyfriend, light of my life, is and always has been, if anything, stubborn to the core. And courageous. So, so courageous.

I always want to be there to reassure him - even if it means marking something ordinary as special and official. 

We continue down the street, still holding hands, until we get to Dante's. The huge copper Victoria Arduino shines behind the counter of the coffee bar (it is truly a work of art). I take a seat at one of the wrought-iron tables while Simon goes to the bar to fetch me my favorite dessert coffee (a caffè Marocchino) and a cannoli with hazelnut cream. He drops my order off, and when he finally returns to the table to sit he has a bear’s claw the size of his face and a tea. 

We eat and drink in amiable silence. I watch as pastry flakes drift down onto Simon’s shirt, linger around the edge of his mouth. He never contemplates ahead of time how to attack his meal; every move he makes he manifests in an instant. I love it. I love him.

“I love you,” I say from behind my coffee cup, because it’s true, and I’m not sure I say it as often as I should. And because, apparently, we’re on a date, which is the proper time to make declarations. He pauses just a moment, sipping his tea to wash down his last bite. 

“Me too. Love _you_ , I mean,” he says sheepishly. “Ready to get out of here?” 

Even though I am very much looking forward to what happens at the end of a Simon Snow date night (and Simon has something _very_ particular in mind at its conclusion), we take the long way back to the flat, walking along the river hand in hand. The lights from the mills and pedestrian lights on the walkway glint off the swaying black water. City Hall looms in the distance - my second home.

The first is wherever I am with Simon. The words of that song drift into my mind suddenly: _Home is wherever I’m with you_. It’s an appallingly saccharine sentiment, but I can’t think of any that so neatly explains what I feel when I’m around him.

We stop and look over the water for a moment. I contemplate all the gains and losses I’ve amassed and tallied over the years, the length of the columns and the various ticks that mark off both my accomplishments and failures. But when I turn and look at Simon, his hair silhouetted against the dark water, bronzed and shining even in the dim light, the score is erased. 

And our columns stand empty, waiting to be filled back up. And this time, the two of us are on the same team. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND you know I couldn't give up a chance to dress Baz up in a killer suit for his inauguration. Tell me he wouldn't look amazing in this [Tom Ford](https://www.tomford.com/black-silk-shelton-suit/25SL4Z-515R00.html?dwvar_25SL4Z-515R00_color=BLK&cgid=men-ready-to-wear-suits#start=1) get-up? And for his and Simon's "first" date? [This shirt](https://www.ssense.com/en-us/men/product/comme-des-garcons-shirt/black-floral-print-shirt/5487241) reminded me so much of Baz's floral suit on the WS cover. Pair with a pink blazer and Baz is the fashion queen as always.
> 
> A final note on coffee: there are many home contraptions that make good coffee, but Baz knows that nothing tops walking into an authentic Italian coffee bar and seeing [this beauty](https://majestycoffee.com/products/victoria-arduino-venus-bar-semiautomatic-espresso-maker?variant=8003656384542&utm_medium=cpc&utm_source=google&utm_campaign=Google%20Shopping&currency=USD&gclid=Cj0KCQiA962BBhCzARIsAIpWEL1DaxwDKgTvjb4j-a047a05dMqyLI7rZyF6OghxpfIx8yLwmIna1foaAmbLEALw_wcB) behind the counter. Just gorgeous.


End file.
